Loon - Jack McLean [79]
If we stayed, we would die.
If we left, we had a chance.
We gathered our gear.
I was scared, but well understood that it was our only chance. Compass reading had not been my strong suit, but even I could follow a north-facing arrow. As our moment grew closer, I became increasingly excited. We’d been defensive sitting ducks for almost three days. If I was going to die, as seemed likely, I wanted to be on the attack like the United States Marine that I was.
All felt as I did.
Fuck ’em.
Fuck ’em all.
We were going to take as many of those little motherfuckers down with us as we could.
The moment never came.
Within the hour, several helicopters, against all odds and through heavy ground fire, came in and began to pull us out. It was a dream. As each successive chopper loaded, we shrank the perimeter and moved uphill. I was on the third chopper out. I ran for the raising ramp and was pulled in by as many hands as were already on the helicopter. We lifted, banked, and heard small-arms fire ding off the chopper’s belly. The two .50 caliber door gunners at once laid down a massive wall of suppressive fire. Minutes later when we saw the craters of Khe Sanh outside the shattered windows, we knew that we were safe for the first time in three days.
As there had been no formal plan for our evacuation, the pilots off-loaded us to several of the secured rear bases along Route 9. Most of us ended up at the Vandergrift Combat Base. In the two-hundred-year history of the U.S. Marine Corps, there was not a single marine who felt more tested and battle hardened than we did that evening.
Captain Negron, last to disembark, directed our staggering beleaguered lot to a nearby mess tent where hot chow and water were in abundance. We mustered forward in dazed disbelief, hugging, touching, crying, and looking about for friends, knowing that more than a few remained on the hill.
Dead.
Then a voice came from behind.
“Charlie Six Actual, I presume?”
Negron snapped around to see a familiar-looking stranger walking slowly toward him across the tarmac, arm and hand outstretched. “Good job, Captain. I’m proud of you and proud of your company.
“Trailblazer here. Trailblazer Six Actual.”
Only then did Negron recognize the familiar face. It was that of Raymond G. Davis, the new commanding general of the entire 3rd Marine Division. During those final hours, the besieged boys of Charlie Company were given the full attention and resources of the entire 3rd Division of the United States Marine Corps.
For those three days in June 1968, Charlie and Delta companies 1/4 were the war in Vietnam.
25
THE NEXT MORNING WE BEGAN TO GATHER UP THE disparate elements of Charlie Company that had been evacuated from LZ Loon to various bases along Route 9. Captain Negron decided that we would consolidate there at the Vandergrift Combat Base, so one by one throughout the morning, we were reunited with our lost comrades. Each person carried a valuable piece of information about the casualties. These guys were at Delta Med in Dong Ha, some other guys were in Da Nang. A bunch, including Wayne Wood and Michael Kilderry, were on the hospital ship Repose offshore. And, finally, all these guys—the long list that we were soon all able to recite by rote—were dead.
All dead.
There were fresh tears, breathless reunions, and the early telling and retelling of the hundreds of stories that emerged from the three-day battle. We had to keep talking to one another to be certain it had not been a nightmare.
“How did you make it out?”
“Did Santangelo make it back?”
“What happened to the pilot of the ammo chopper that got shot down?”
“How bad was Doc Mac hurt? Did anyone see where he got hit?”
“What’s Snowball doing on the Repose; it didn’t look like he got hit too bad.”
“Is Woody still alive? It didn’t look like there was anything left of him when we threw him on the chopper.”
And so it went, all