Into Cambodia - Keith Nolan [135]
Walker had been at the 25th Division NCO School at Cu Chi when Cambodia broke. Grabbing his gear at FSB Keaton and thumbing a ride on the first chopper he could find, he'd rejoined the platoon only that morning.
As the 2d Platoon of Delta Company rucked up for the Eagle Flight to Chantrea from FSB Seminole, Pfc John D. Lonsdale, forward observer RTO from D/2-4 FA to D/6-31 Infantry, decided to tag along. He didn't have to go since Lieutenant Bayer's forward observer team was accompanying Captain Lowe to Samraong; but Lonsdale was an Iowa country boy, a good solid kid who'd been out with 2d Platoon before and liked all the guys. He had begged Bayer for permission to go and Bayer, against his better judgment because he considered Lonsdale too carefree for his own good, agreed. The Hueys scooped up six or seven men apiece, and Doc Miller and Lonsdale ended up side by side with their feet dangling from the cabin door. Everyone was nervous and tight-lipped except Lonsdale, who shot Miller a pugnacious grin, “I really like sittin' next to you, Doc, 'cause you're the only one who will bullshit with me.”
They landed just over a hundred meters north of Chantrea. The hamlet was long and narrow on a north-south axis. A light, leafy forest defined the edges of the village and, with a common green and pretty hootches, it was beautiful in a spacious, quiet way. It was also occupied by the North Vietnamese, who took the platoon under fire as their skirmish line approached.
The GIs ran for the trees, into the fire.
The NVA fire tapered off as the platoon reached the cover of the trees. Adrenaline. Confusion. Lonsdale rushed on, “Doc, this way!”
Miller tagged along instead behind Walker. He lost sight of Lonsdale among the trees.
Sprinkles, taking control, would have liked to inundate Chantrea with artillery fire before pushing on, but that was not to be. For one thing, they were some ten klicks from the half battery at FSB Seminole and, due to the inherent inaccuracy of the 105 mm howitzer at maximum range, they were to fire only in an emergency. The artillery commander, Forman, had taken the precaution of sending a liaison officer to an RF/PF outpost north of Seminole, which had two 155mm guns. Forman had also seen to it that the Go Devil Brigade's parent division, the 25th Tropic Lightning, had sent ammunition to these militiamen. However, unaware of their proficiency, he also did not want them firing except as a last resort.
Sprinkles knew none of this. All he knew was that one more time, something, somewhere had gone wrong.
Feeling naked without their artillery support, the platoon advanced in a cautious skirmish line until Walker noticed a sack of rice lying in a bald spot amid the bamboo and slender trees. He kicked away the rice bag and was abruptly staring down into the face of the NVA soldier squatting in the spiderhole under the sack. The NVA was as shocked as Walker, who stumbled back on his butt, desperately screaming, ' “Chieu hoi, chieu hoi!” He was shouting even as Doc Miller, right beside him, stumbled backward in a fright, firing his M16 from the hip at a flash of black hair that popped down as instantaneously as he squeezed the trigger. Remembering the Tiger Scout they had lost the last time they had tried to take a prisoner, Sprinkles roared from behind them, “No chieu hoi!”
Before the North Vietnamese in the hole could decide whether to surrender or return fire, Walker yanked the pin from a fragmentation grenade, scrambled back up, and dropped it into the hole.
The platoon picked itself up and pressed on, stopping, looking, moving from tree to tree in quick, low runs. Lonsdale ended up to the left of the main village trail, and Sprinkles made it up to the bushes