Loon - Jack McLean [71]
There was no question that we were dealing with hard-core NVA. In the southern regions of South Vietnam, a bad guy was called “Charlie.” Here in the far northern reaches, we called him “Sir Charles.”
He was worthy of our respect.
Alpha and Bravo companies had sustained four dead and twelve wounded from the attack on their nearby position the previous afternoon. For the first time since I’d arrived in country, all four companies of the 1st Battalion of the 4th Marine Regiment were in the shit at the same time.
Their mission accomplished, the two colonels boarded their helicopter. They had assured us that the promised artillery battery was on its way, would be dropped into place shortly, and would be ready to commence firing within the hour.
The artillery pieces never arrived.
With the colonels’ helicopter still in plain view, the first deadly accurate incoming artillery and rockets from Co Roc, Laos, landed within our perimeter.
The battle for LZ Loon had commenced.
The cry of “Corpsman!” instantly rang out from near the 2nd Platoon’s lines. There were injuries. This was serious. Several marines were wounded on the first round. The second round landed near an incoming supply chopper farther down the hill. Unharmed, it immediately lifted off and fled from the hill, but not before several off-loaded marines were injured. Terry Tillery received a pleading radio call from the 3rd Platoon radio operator, who, along with his platoon commander, Lieutenant Lloyd, had just jumped from the departing chopper.
“Charlie Six, this is Charlie Three. Over.”
“Three, this is Six. Go,” responded Tillery.
“Six, we got wounded down here. Lieutenant Lloyd is down. Looks like he got it in both legs. It’s a fuckin’ mess. Get some help down here. Now. Over.”
“Roger, Three. Over and out.”
Tillery released the handset, stood up, and yelled across the perimeter.
“We got wounded outside the lines that need help. Let’s get down there. Come on.”
Tillery ran down the hill, found Lieutenant Lloyd, and dragged him back up the hill. Several other marines scrambled down to guide the others up to safety.
While dealing with the incoming mortar and artillery fire, Negron kept an eye out on the horizon for the choppers with the artillery pieces. They never came. More alarming still, early that morning an army Huey helicopter had come in and removed the four engineers.
Great, thought Negron. That’s just fuckin’ great. I’ve got two fuckin’ pallets of howitzer ammo that will blow to kingdom come if they get hit with incoming artillery, and a huge fuckin’ backhoe that the gooks will play target practice with. It has a full tank of gas, so it will probably blow as well.
Just fuckin’ great.
Like he didn’t have enough on his mind already.
With sudden force, a deafening scream announced another incoming round. There had been no discernible muzzle blast. Like the other two, it came right at us and exploded with enormous force directly on top of a 2nd Platoon fighting hole. The cry went out for a corpsman, but the first corpsman to arrive saw no need. The hole, now four times its original size, contained an unidentifiable mélange of blood, hair, bones, and viscera.
We tried to remember who had been in the hole but were permitted little time to think.
The next round screamed in seconds later and landed in another hole on the 2nd Platoon lines. The force of both blasts was enormous and filled the air with the eerie sound of a million pieces of shrapnel fanning in all directions. We were being shelled with 122 mm artillery from Co Roc, Laos. This time, however,