Into Cambodia - Keith Nolan [31]
The RPGs flashed in on the artillerymen as they worked their guns, and mortar rounds and rockets continued to fall. Not only was the 2-32 FDC blown apart, but the FDC of B/1-77 also took several direct hits, which wounded and killed several men and demolished their radio trailer. The wounded artillery liaison officer recovered a PRC77 radio and rigged a short whip antenna, through which he could communicate to the gunship pilots orbiting overhead; the pilots relayed his messages to B/2-19 FA at FSB Hannas, which controlled the support fires for the thirty minutes it took to reestablish regular communications. One 105mm was knocked out, and artillerymen occasionally fell with wounds as they manned their guns, causing Colonel Brady to comment:
I should write a book about the enlisted men. Everyone of the howitzers in division artillery carried battle damage as a result of repeated attacks by fire on our bases. Nonetheless, we kept them operational by putting a lot of pressure on our support organizations, by cannibalizing, and by plain old Yankee ingenuity. These scars and patches were the cannoneers badge of courage. They represented the countless times that the redlegs ignored the full fury of the NVA's fire to answer it with their own.
The NVA attack was quickly closing in on Echo Recon's section of the bunker line. Lieutenant Peters–red-haired, tall, muscular–commanded the three bunkers on the right side of the path, while Staff Sergeant Taylor–black, easygoing, solid under fire–commanded the two on the left. They were everywhere along the line, bucking the men up.
Peters, who was known as Rooster, or Roo, as much for his red hair as his rowdy manner, was a character larger than life to his nineteen-year-old grunts. He might have been one of the boys in the rear, but he was a big guy who'd been a football player in college, and in the bush his orders snapped like a whip because he was damn good and his men trusted him. Echo Recon was only a thin olive-drab line on the bulging part of the perimeter, but they were all volunteers, an experienced, tight group under Peters and Taylor.1 One of the platoon's members, Sp4c. Peter C. Lemon, would later be singled out as the cornerstone to Echo Recon's defense, and fourteen months after this hell-night he would be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor.
He was nineteen when he earned the medal.
Lemon was a big kid at six foot two and two hundred pounds, although he lost thirty of those in the boonies. He was bright, but studying played second fiddle to hunting and the great outdoors and, true to form, he volunteered for the draft soon after high school graduation. Hawkish politically, he was assertive personally: During the forced marches in basic training, he was the man holding the guidon ahead of the rest.
Lemon came incountry in July 1969 and was assigned to I Company, 75th Infantry (Rangers) of the 1st Infantry Division, until February 1970, when his unit was withdrawn. He ended up at the replacement center of the 1st Cavalry Division with his pick of assignments. He bumped into Echo Recon during their standdown and, impressed with their camara-derie, signed on. He was just in time for the helihopping into War Zone C. He personified the platoon spirit, was aggressive in the bush– he was tinkering with the idea of a military career–and displayed an occasional youthful defiance of rules and regulations, including the mari-juana most of these volunteers broke out during standdowns.2 But like most of his comrades, by the end of his tour the fire in his nostrils had died out. He wanted only to shed his uniform and get on with a normal, quiet life.
Most of the NVA were killed as they rushed across the dusty clearing, and Lemon stood behind the berm shooting the survivors as quickly as they appeared out of the eerie veil of dust. He fired an M60 until it jammed, then grabbed an M16, but it was also clogged with dust. He got his hands on another M16 from somewhere but was knocked flat by an