Into Cambodia - Keith Nolan [38]
Twenty-four GIs had been killed. Fifty-four GIs had been wounded, not including the few men Furey had passed on the chopper pad who were too frightened to be ashamed as they tried to gain a place on the medevacs because of a small scratch or ringing in the ears.
Eighty-eight NVA bodies were found. Many more had probably been dragged off or littered the bombarded avenues of retreat.
A few men were still primed with adrenaline, and they showed Furey the wasted quad-fifty while, wide-eyed and gesticulating, each described the attack in terms often contradicting the description just given by a buddy who'd been standing beside him when the NVA swarmed forward. Furey found Captain Laidig who, courageous during the night, was now moving slowly and talking with a shaky voice. He had salvaged a little ammunition can containing his camera and wallet from the mess of his obliterated radio trailer and burned tent, and he walked in a semidaze, showing Furey what had happened and getting his exhausted men back to their guns.
The artillerymen kept asking Furey when they were going to be pulled out. The idea of another night at Illingworth was unthinkable.1
Captain Laidig, although numb with exhaustion and on the downside of the adrenaline flow, had already started getting his people back to firing status with the help of Lieutenant Colonel Fitzgerald and Major Furey. The FDC and communications were restored, howitzers were relaid, aiming stakes were replaced, and the ammunition resupply was organized. About an hour into this activity, Colonel Brady and Major Pokorny from DivArty arrived aboard their helicopter. At the time there were still small groups of artillerymen and infantrymen wandering aim-lessly, their minds a million miles away. Colonel Brady, sensing that the other leaders present felt too sorry for the men to get them going, harshly instructed them to police up the area and get it looking like a military installation again. It struck Furey as a typically heartless display of the colonel's style, but also as something that, no matter how worded, had to be done. The first thing an experienced commander does with shocked troops is put them to work–even if just stacking battle trash– especially in a situation like this where, for all they knew, the NVA would attack again at any time.
Brigadier General Casey and Colonel Ochs flew in from different directions, and Major General Roberts, monitoring the battle from his command helicopter since four in the morning, also landed. By then, Captain Hobson and Sergeant First Class Beauchamp were sitting atop their smashed bunker with a couple of warm beers they had found in the dirt. In his other hand, Beauchamp had the company roster, which was just a pencil-written list on a piece of yellow paper. Half of his men were so new their paperwork hadn't caught up with them, and there was no way yet to match up the faces of those who'd been killed or wounded with the names on the paper. Beauchamp wasn't mad. He was a professional soldier, and what happens just happens. He and the captain stood when the general's entourage walked up, and they offered a pair of field salutes. In absolute sincerity, General Roberts told the dazed troops sitting around the bunker that they'd done a fantastic job and, in equal sincerity, the division sergeant major hugged one of the filthy kids, saying, “How ya doin', good soldier?” Roberts then asked Hobson which of his men had performed especially well, and their buck sergeant platoon leader and several others were lined up. Roberts pinned Silver Stars to their fatigue pockets.
They were too numb to know what was happening.
The battle for Firebase Illingworth, considered by some a Pyrrhic victory,2