Into Cambodia - Keith Nolan [218]
“Scared,” they answered almost in unison.
“Because of the booby traps?”
“No …because a cache means there are people around.”
Delta Company had reason to worry. On 19 June 1970, they humped into a narrow ravine while continuing the cache search. Reportedly, they used the main trail because it was easier, and neglected to send out flank security: From the jungled slopes the NVA rained fire into the lead platoon. Major Blumhardt radioed Captain Lodoen to bring Bravo Company up to reinforce. Less than a kilometer separated the two companies, but it was slow going as Bravo's point men hacked a path with machetes and ripped away the wait-a-minute vines that snarled around their legs and gear. The exchange of fire echoed through the jungle, and chaos reigned through the squawk boxes of Lodoen's RTOs. Captain Miller's voice warbled on the edge of panic, and no one was really in command. Lodoen pushed his men up the jungled hill. Miller's men crawled out of the ravine any way they could. Three grunts were left dead where they had fallen. By the time Bravo made it to where Delta had fallen back to regroup, arty was thudding into the hillsides. When Cobras screamed down the draw, clearing their guns. Smoke was popped to guide in the medevac: Six men had been wounded.
That night, Captain Miller radioed Colonel DeLeuil, “This may sound funny, but I just can't go on. I can't take another minute of this.”
“Repeat that.”
“I can't take it. I've got to be pulled out.”
“You sit still. I'll be there the first thing in the morning.”
More than anything, DeLeuil needed solid company commanders. Battalion commanders were lucky if they took a round or two in their command ships, and they never had enough time with each platoon to influence things. It was a company commander's war. By this stage, experienced, energetic captains were not in great supply. Discussing the need for a new commander of D Company, in the TOC bunker at FSB Myron, Blumhardt commented to DeLeuil that he had a man for the job: Capt. Mack W. Gwinn. He had recently joined the battalion as the assistant operations officer, but word was that his brother had been killed in Vietnam and he wanted to fight. DeLeuil told him to pack his bags. “You're getting a new job.”
Crazy Mack, as he was known, couldn't have been happier. The next morning, DeLeuil and Gwinn were in a 1st Cav Huey on the way to Delta Company. DeLeuil radioed ahead to Miller, “You got an LZ?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, is it secure?”
“Yes.”
The landing zone turned out to be a hole in the double canopy jungle, and the pilot made a tense hover straight down through it. Miller had a thick beard and looked older than his years, and DeLeuil barked at him to get on the chopper. Then he took Gwinn aside: His first mission was to recover those bodies from yesterday's disaster. Crazy Mack was a macho type in camouflage fatigues who told his men that he wanted to go out and shoot as many gooks as possible and who ridiculed those who showed any fear, but the young captain was himself a fearless man who, through example, eventually got Delta Company running again.
With Miller aboard the C&C Huey, Gwinn called his platoon leaders together, and DeLeuil paced the perimeter. It was a mess. They had pulled back into a tight ring amid the trees, no security was out, and the troops were plain scared to death. DeLeuil was a pleasant gentleman, but he knew how to play the role of the fiery, cigar-chewing commander of infantry. He went from man to man in Delta Company telling them that they were doing a great job and to hang