Loon - Jack McLean [75]
“Charlie Six, this is Charlie Three. Over.” Tillery recognized the voice of Eddie Mitchell, the 3rd Platoon radio operator.
“Go ahead, Three,” Tillery responded.
“Six,” Mitchell was yelling into his handset. “Six, Brazier’s down, he’s dead. It’s a fuckin’ mess. We’re headed back over to LZ Loon. Over and out.”
At daybreak, Sergeant Brazier had begun to lead his squad over to our new hill from LZ Loon. The dead had been gathered and prepared for later evacuation, and the explosive charges had been set on the backhoe and the ammo pallet. At the base of the ravine between the two adjacent hills, Brazier’s squad of marines had walked right into a well-set NVA ambush. Brazier, walking point, had never had a chance. He was instantly killed with five rounds into his chest. Dragging their leader behind, the rest of the squad beat a hasty retreat back to the tenuous safety of LZ Loon and dug back in.
Seconds after Mitchell’s radio transmission, all hell broke loose.
The AK-47 fire began coming from every point around the perimeter. Several bullets exploded inches over my helmet; others whizzed past my ears. Marines are fond of saying that you never hear the one that hits you. In that I took some comfort. As long as I could hear the crack of the rounds on their way by, I knew that I was still alive. The rifle fire was followed in succession by rocket-propelled grenades and mortars.
There was no place to hide.
The NVA were everywhere.
“Grasshopper Charlie Six, this is Grasshopper Six Actual. Things sound kinda rough up there for you. Give me a sit rep. Over.” Lieutenant Colonel James MacLean, our visitor from the previous day, was on the radio checking in.
“Grasshopper Six, this is Charlie Six Actual. We are in the V ring. Surrounded by unhappy gooks. Send water, ammo, air, and arty. Now. Over.” Bill Negron was totally focused on our immediate survival.
“Charlie Six, this is Grasshopper Six. I read you loud and clear. What’s your body count? Over.”
“Grasshopper Six, be advised that I’ve lost an entire offensive football team and one baseball team. I’m too busy killing ’em to count ’em. I’ll be back when it’s quieter. Over.” Negron signed off.
“Roger that, Charlie Six. Groceries and goodies are on the way. Over and out.”
A brief radio silence was followed by an urgent whisper on another radio that was barely audible.
“Charlie Six, this is Charlie Three. Over.”
It was the voice of 3rd Platoon radio operator Mitchell calling again from LZ Loon across the ravine.
“This is Six. Go,” replied Tillery.
“Six, they’re coming at you. We can see it from here. They’re all over your fuckin’ perimeter and they are coming at you. Over.”
Negron grabbed the handset from Tillery.
“Three, this is Six Actual, do you read me? Over.”
“Roger that, Skipper.” Mitchell was out of breath and scared.
“Three, can you give me their grid coordinates. Give me some numbers so I can lay some lumber on them.”
With that, two more 122 mm rockets screamed over the perimeter, followed by a volley of incoming grenades, mortars, and small-arms fire. The ground attack had begun.
“Here they come!” someone screamed.
“Gooks in the perimeter!” came the cry from the 2nd Platoon lines.
“Gooks in the perimeter!” came the cry again, now from the Delta Company lines. Delta marines were engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the enemy.
Negron, observing the assault, looked calmly to John Camacho, the artillery forward observer, and gave a sullen nod.
“Do it. Do it now.”
Camacho picked up his handset and called the rear. Negron then turned to Terry Tillery and said, “Pass the word. Get everybody in a hole. Now.”
“All stations on this net, this is Charlie Six,” Tillery advised. “Be advised we are calling them in on us. Repeat, calling them in on us. Pass the word. Get down. Now. Over.