One Simple War Story by W. Paul Hughes

When we arrived at LZ Baldy, our fire base, we had just finished three stress-filled, fatiguing weeks on an operation in the mountains of the Central Highlands. Although exhausted, our causalities were relatively minor considering the length and sweep of the search & destroy mission we were sent on three week prior. Our future… my future, was not to be so destined.

      A last minute change of orders just as we landed on the LZ would ultimately send almost half of Alpha Company, of the 196th Infantry, to the Promised Land… whose promise and whose land is still in question to this very day. The break from the jungle and getting bunker-duty on Baldy was exciting to a bunch of grunts; at least hot chow and an eventual shower. We needed a break from the bush, we’d earned it!

      As we grouped together on the LZ our sergeant came rushing toward our group of jungle-orphans from the supply area and dropped an emotional bomb on our heads. Echo Company, our reconnaissance company, had been sweeping an area surrounding the city of Tam Ky and had lost almost half of the company due to VC mines and booby-traps. We were aware of their situation due to continual radio-traffic and knew their losses were tremendous. What was so frightening, however, was the fact that they had never made enemy contact.

      The Vietnam version of I.E.D.s had been devastating. Echo Company had lost too many casualties to remain in the field; their likelihood of being overrun was an issue now. They had to be replaced. Alpha Company’s black ace death-card was about to come back to haunt us; it had been scattered all over the Highlands. If we’d been there, our black ace was left as our calling card; It was as if we were being set-up by our enemies.

      Alpha Company left LZ Baldy later that September evening and choppered to the outskirts of Tam Ky, arriving just long enough before dark to dig in for the night. A long, hard, driving rain began as we prepared our night defense. Our last time in this particular area we lost most of our third platoon in an early morning ambush. We just didn’t want to go back, “period.” Yes, we were afraid; some of us would die and we knew it before we left Baldy. A friend approached and ask me to assure him that I would see that his things got home in the event of his death; it was a very strange encounter.

      We moved out at dawn; what would prove to be the longest day of my life. We hadn’t gone more than a few hundred yards when our point-man stepped on a booby-trap. A deafening explosion rang out in the fog-covered, misty morning and the battlefield cries of dying soldiers permeated the smoke and debris. “Medic, medic,” was screamed from the point. Our point-man immediately lost one leg, two KIA’s, and several were wounded. As I assisted one soldier torn open at the stomach awaiting the Medi-vacs, in his panic-stricken voice, he screamed for his “mother;” he died as we placed him on a chopper.

      After wrestling for another point-man a green-beret lieutenant volunteered to take the point. Ultimately, we called in a dog-team to sniff out the underground devices. Still cloudy from the storm the night before we were starting to cross a series of rice-paddies when we came under rocket fire. Fortunately, the rockets overshot our position; I felt myself aging. I recall with vivid clarity, thinking, “When the guys see me later, they’ll know that I’m older.” Believe me, when years seem to pass in seconds, the individual feels it.

      We eventually got to our night-logger. Our commander seemed to be cracking-up, giving orders and almost immediately retracting them. It was clearly noticeable to us and very unsettling. When our leader became fanatical it wasn’t comforting to the soldiers “at all.” We’d lost around eight men already that day and there was a very long  night ahead of us. We started to dig-in for the night. The atmosphere was charged with death and the overcast sky only attributed to our restlessness.

      A former air strike had placed a few huge craters in the center of what would  be our night defense perimeter. Being the grenadier for the Command Post I claim on of the craters for my fox-hole. After removing the heavy flak-jacket and my steel-pot I started to read a letter from my mother for the third time. Out of my peripheral vision I noticed one of my closer friends digging in on the outer perimeter. “Hey Dave,” I shouted, “come here for a minute.” As I continued reading the letter I noticed Dave getting closer. I’d just concluded the letter from mom and was putting it back into the envelope. Dave was standing a couple of feet from me. Dave took a direct hit from an incoming RGP. We both died. Obviously, the rocket signaled an enemy assault and our position become hell.

      My first thought in the after-life was, “So this is what it feels like to be dead.” I knew that I had died and in some kind of spirit place, but had no idea what was happening. One prominent thing stood out to me more than any other single thing. I totally realized that I was “not in charge” of what was occurring. As I journeyed down a seemingly endless tunnel toward a brilliant light at the other end I review my entire past on the walls of the huge cylinder. As instantly as things were occurring a phantom-like hand appeared in an extremely dark place and grasp my departing spirit and replaced it into my dead body lying in the rubble of war.

      I raised my head, realizing I was alive. I had been thrown to a prone position. I knew something was  the matter with my right eye and as I opened my clinched fist I saw a huge chunk of my friend Dave in my hand. The flesh had red hair covering it and Dave was red-headed. I surveyed my legs to see how badly I was injured. My left leg had been blown in-two just below the knee and shrapnel had chain-sawed both knees, legs, and ankles. I was blood-soaked from head-to-toe.  A medic finally arrived and began to bandage me up. Steel was sticking through my combat boots and I wanted them off. I keep telling “whomever” it was caring for me, to take my boots off.

      Although I had both eyes covered I could hear the incoming rockets and small arms fire intensifying. The concussion from the direct-hit was starting to subside somewhat and I could faintly recognize the explosions. I was moved to a bomb-crater until the Medi-Vacs could get there. I felt like I knew where the rockets were fired from and tried to tell our lieutenant but I’m sure he thought I was in shock. Finally, I heard the blessed rotor blades as the cut through the air in bound. However, I noticed they were circling our position and wasn’t attempting to land. I screamed out at whoever was around and declared, “Why aren’t they coming in to get us?” Some voice replied, “We’re under to heavy an assault, they’re waiting on gun-ship escort.”. There was no mistaking the Cobra’s. When they arrived the enemy hid…quick. The gunship fired a twenty millimeter cannon that fired 6000 rounds a minute; the sound was frightening, much like that of a chainsaw running at full throttle.

      As the Cobras opened up, I felt two GI pick me up and started to run with me. I had done this very thing many times, but never seen me being on the wounded end. I was totally blind with a broken left leg and shrapnel wounds from head to foot and I knew the VC would attempt to shoot the very chopper down that I was about to be placed on. The morphine was trying to put me to sleep but I knew if I went to sleep I’d probably never wake up again; I fought off the sleep.

      I was finally hoisted up to the chopper deck and clipped in at the top of the rank; I knew the chopper would be full. I was now more frightened that I’d ever been while in Vietnam. As the rotor intensified in order to lift off with a full load, I cried out to anyone on board, “Did you get David?” Someone screamed back through the smell of death, gun-powder, and the noise of war, “We got what we could find.”

      In the years ahead, even until this very day, during a time of tranquility or a potential moment of hush while private and alone, I can hear that frightened soldier’s voice. He too, was desirous to leave that meat grinder, awaiting the chopper to finally pull itself free. That momentary hoist from the Earth thousands and thousands of choppers had made throughout the war was, for me, the most frightening moment of my life. Yet, even today, with millions of words, countless days, trips and events piled atop that September evening in Southeast Asia, those words find their way back into my mind and, like an unwelcomed intruder they make their declaration, We got what we could find?  Just one simple war story.