Into Cambodia - Keith Nolan [143]
Captain Lowe sprinted back across the road to rejoin his command group in the ditch, and taking the radio handset he was informed by Lieutenant Colonel Gearin–orbiting to the southeast in Colonel Williams's C&C Huey–that he had some snakes on the way. Lowe responded that this was an infantry fight and the gunships might be in more danger than they were from the 12.7mm, but Gearin decided to send them in anyway. So Lowe requested that they be used to locate the mortar that was by now sending regular salvos around the road juncture where Mize was flattened with his squad.
One of those men, Art Janovik, had been hit in the arm by mortar shrapnel, and, after taking care of him, Doc Miller flopped into the ditch where the command group was, asking if anyone had been hurt up front. Incredibly, no one had, but Lowe turned to him with another matter, “Doc, we gotta have more ammo. Go back and get us some grenades, LAWs, and forty-millimeter rounds.”
“Okay, where do I go?”
Lowe told him to get them from Lieutenant Weed's platoon, and to lead a couple of those men forward with as much ammunition as they could carry. With that, Miller bounded back out of the ditch as if he didn't realize he was running through a firestorm.
Back down the trail, Miller found the 3d Platoon strung out behind stumps and bushes, almost comatose in the heat. He ran up screaming for help, but the men who had stood tall on other days were glued behind their cover, frozen with fear. They didn't even look up. Their platoon leader, Lieutenant Weed, suddenly appeared, “What do you need, Doc?”
“We gotta have grenades and we gotta have help right now.”
Weed, who had gone off to war with stories of his forebears who had fallen in defense of the Confederacy, hollered at his flattened platoon.
No one moved.
“Get your asses in gear!”
Still, no one moved, and Lieutenant Weed finally spat with uncharacteristic harshness, “Well, then give me your fucking grenades!”
Weed and Miller went from man to man, piling grenades in their pockets and upturned helmets, slinging LAWs and bandoliers of M60 ammunition over their shoulders, then they ran back into the crossfire up the trail, fatigue shirts plastered to their sweaty backs.
Up ahead, Lowe pulled the orange and red silk marker panel out of Mickels's radio accessory bag and, with Bayer's help, exposed himself again to spread it out on the road to mark their position for the inbound helicopter gunships. Jumping back into the ditch, Lowe was astonished to find Weed grinning up at him from under his load of ammunition of every kind.
Weed dumped most of the bandoliers in the ditch, then sprinted across the road to join Macomber, Walker, and Wood, who were still in the ditch on the other side. From there they could see two bunkers at the bases of two trees. The three were putting out enough fire to sound like a small army and, hopefully, to keep the NVA ducking long enough to allow Alvarez's squad to scramble back. Walker had an M79 in his hands from somewhere and, as quickly as he could, he would fire at the left bunker, drop down to reload, then pop back up long enough to slam a grenade at the right bunker in turn. As fast as he fired and broke the weapon open, Macomber would hand him another shell, while Wood