Loon - Jack McLean [63]
The following morning, the sun came over the eastern ridge, the two marine captains stood just east of the Ka Gia bridge, shook hands, and began laughing. Though it had been one hell of a night, there had been no enemy action—no probes, no mortars, no rockets. All six positions had been successfully remanned the previous evening. During the next six hours, however, forty-one marines from Charlie 1/4 and Charlie 1/9 discovered that they were with the wrong Charlie Company. An exchange was made before noon.
The 1st Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment that we replaced that evening had earned the moniker “the walking dead.” They had been in the center of every piece of heavy fighting for the last six months, from the Tet Offensive to the siege of Khe Sanh. Now it was our turn.
With the confusion resolved, the week providing road security along Route 9 became a productive time for Negron. Each morning the mail driver would pick him up and deliver him to one of the six scattered Charlie Company outposts. He would serve chow, deliver mail, and spend time with his marines one on one. Each outpost had its own personality and thereby gave the Skipper a rare opportunity to see small team units in action.
Early on the second day, Negron visited a position that was sited on a large hump-backed hill in the middle of a wide valley. The hill shot high out of the ground and, given its strategic position, probably had been constantly manned since the beginning of the war. Sergeant Munroe, a veteran on his second Vietnam tour, greeted Negron along the side of the road and walked him up the hill.
“No movement again last night, Skipper. All the bad guys must have gone home.” Munroe’s broad smile could not hide the devilish look in his eye. “You want a cold one, boss?”
“A cold one?”
“A cold beer?”
“Are you shitting me?” Negron was incredulous. “Where’d you get the ice? Where’d you get the beer?”
“Ice is no problem, sir. Cam Lo village is right up the road. For a few C rations, we get a lot of ice.” Munroe pushed back the poncho liner that served as the door to his bunker, reached into a hole in the dirt floor, and produced an ice-cold can of Budweiser.
They drank and laughed for several minutes and proceeded to tour the compound. Munroe was a proud host. Every hole was tied in with the next and they were mutually supporting. It was a textbook defensive position. Munroe was a good combat marine. He had his shit together.
“You know, Skipper, the last time I left Nam, I was a staff sergeant. Two years back in the States and I’m reduced to corporal. I come back here and, after a time, get my stripes back. If there’s a chance, I’d like to get my platoon back next.”
“Munroe, you know things change in a hurry over here. If a shot comes, you got it. Keep your ass down and take it easy.” With that, Negron returned to his jeep and headed to the next stop.
The “shot” that Negron referred to arrived several days later on the morning of June 6, 1968. Staff Sergeant Brazier, Munroe’s platoon sergeant, walked into an enemy ambush with a squad of marines. He was shot and killed instantly. Sergeant Munroe became the 3rd Platoon commander shortly thereafter.
21
OUR FINAL STOP BEFORE BEGINNING THE OFFENSIVE operation was again Camp Carroll, which was a large fortified supporting artillery position along Route 9. We had just received word that the choppers were on the way to move us out. Our target that day, June 4, 1968, was a remote dot on the map marked Hill 672 in the rugged hills south of Khe Sanh and hard on the Laotian border. It became known as Landing Zone Loon.
We were well aware that we were heading into what would be some of the heaviest fighting of the Vietnam War. We were ready.
In late May, intelligence had confirmed that the North Vietnamese Army had infiltrated the 88th and 102nd regiments of the 308th Division into northwestern Quang Tri province. Aerial photographs clearly showed