Loon - Jack McLean [82]
Silence.
“You never really believe what’s going to happen till it happens to you. Then you say, ‘Oh, shit, I better really pay attention now.’ Well, this is it. You don’t pay attention, you end up like this.” Negron rubbed the dead NVA soldier on the head for emphasis. “Ten minutes ago, this poor fuck was alive and thinkin’ about pussy and beer, just like you. This will be you if you don’t do what you are told and listen to your leaders.
“Thank you, men. You’re dismissed.”
We old guys were too numb to notice. Most of the new guys were sick with fear.
Eleven days after LZ Loon, on June 17, we got the word that we had been waiting for. The Skipper was looking for volunteers to go back to LZ Loon to retrieve our dead marines. To a man, we all wanted to go and begged that he leave no one behind. Those were our brothers back there. We also were silently hoping that we might get a little payback in the process.
The following morning, we saddled up with helmets, flak jackets, and gas masks. There would be a terrible stench, not only from our dead comrades but from what we could only imagine to be hundreds of rotting napalmed NVA soldiers. We were given Compazine to be certain that our stomachs stayed settled. Our mission was to get in, get the bodies, and get out.
One platoon was to go down to the site of the helicopter crash, while the other two platoons were to canvass the hill. In addition to our normal ammo and gear, we carried body bags and grappling hooks, in the event that the bodies had been booby-trapped with hand grenades. The 2nd Battalion, 9th Marines came in right behind us and set up perimeter security to protect us while we executed our morbid mission.
The operation went off without a hitch. The choppers dropped us off under a heavy layer of smoke that had been dropped as a shield for protection from the Co Roc guns. We wanted to make it impossible for the forward observer to recreate his deadly bearings. Given the nature of the mission, we were accompanied by the press for the first and only time during my tour. A photograph of the mission appeared on the front page of The New York Times days later. It showed four of us carrying the bagged remains of the crashed helicopter pilot past a staked American flag that we found in Tom Morrissey’s pocket. He always carried it with him.
The dead bodies that we had left behind on the night of June 5 when we’d moved to the other hill were still on the LZ exactly as they had been left. We silently began the task of identifying them, bagging them, and preparing them for evacuation. We also found Sergeant Brazier’s body and several of the others who had been killed during the third day of the battle. Dan Burton was called over to make the identifications, as he was one of the few marines left from the decimated 2nd Platoon. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Morrissey’s mostly dismembered body, a trigger for Dan’s nightmares since, was the most frightening figure imaginable, bearing the otherworldly facial expression with which he left this earth. Only four of the other bodies were identifiable to the eye.
The enemy bodies were everywhere.
There were hundreds of them, and they all appeared young and small.
It was obvious that the NVA too had left in a hurry; they generally were as meticulous as we in removing their dead. Most of the bodies that I saw were burned on one part or another from the napalm. I softly kicked the helmet of one of the NVA dead and removed most of his rotting scalp in the process.
It was ghastly.
Mission completed, I began to head back to the LZ with the rest of my squad to prepare for evacuation. On the dusty narrow path, my eye caught sight of what appeared to be a cigar. How peculiar, I thought. A cigar. Do they smoke cigars? I was puzzled, so I reached down and picked it up. Now standing and holding the object, I realized with revulsion that it was in fact a human thumb.