NO HERO HERE(The following story is fiction, however, it is based, in part, on
the combination of true incidents.)
Tommy Martin was just an ordinary young man. Not much different in alot of ways from you and me. No hero here.
He was born in Dallas, Texas, the third son of a small store owner. His sweet mother taught him to love life and take pride in his God and country.
At 20 years of age, he had started his Sophmore year of college, majoring in Biology. Nevertheless, in March of 1967, there was an unpopular war going on in Asia. The reason for the fighting didn't make much sense but his country said they needed him anyway, so he decided to enlist in the U.S. Air Force.
In September of that year, following basic training and then Aircraft Jet Engine Maintenance School, Tommy found himself stationed at Phan Rang Air Base, the Republic of Vietnam. Not a very safe spot, but at least the base had never been seriously attacked.
Tommy worked on the fringes of the Phan Rang flight line at jet engine test cell. Test cell's primary purpose was to check the aircraft engine on a test stand, without it being connected to the aircraft. It was sort of like checking a car engine before you put it in car.
This allowed easier repair and adjustments of components in the event something was not right. General Electric J-57 engines were from the F-100 aircraft, called by the Air Force the Super Sabre and nicked named by pilot and mechanic alike as the "Lead Sled," since the single engine aircraft did not glide very well should the engine quit or "flame out."
Just about any jet engine could be tested on the mobile test stand,
given the correct adapters and hook ups. It was dangerous and noisy
work. Tie down cables could break, engine mounts could rust loose,
accessories could even explode, if not assembled properly. Still,
being a mechanic was less hazardous than being an infantry "grunt."
Airman Second Class (E-3) Tommy Martin had heard of much larger,
indoor test cell facilities in the States, with thick walls to muffle
the noise and several different test stands per building so that
different types of engines could be checked by different crews
simultaneously. When several engines were running at once, it sounded
like the test firing of a huge rocket motor. However, the test cell
Tommy was assigned to was small and outside and was subject to the
elements.
To make things even more hazardous, Airman Martin worked the 12
hour, six nights a week, night shift from 1900 Hours to 0700 Hours (7PM
to 7AM). He had little time for lonliness or recreation. The climate
and work demands kept him pretty tired so that all he really wanted to
do after work was eat and sleep.
It was just getting dark that fateful day in January of 1968
(later termed the Tet Offensive) and
thick, wet towel humidity hung on everything. Because of the
intense noise generated, test cell was isolated on the far end of the
aircraft runway, about 50 yards from the base perimeter chain link
fence. The fence stood 12 feet high and was topped with rolls of barbed
wire. The plant growth, outside the fence, for about another 50 yards,
was periodically cleared with vegation killer, (Agent Orange) dropped from cargo planes. Since the natural growth was removed, it was easy to detect an enemy sneak attack. Beyond that 50 yard swath around the base was thick jungle and foliage.
Average rainfall in Tommy's Dallas was about 20 inches per year but
there in southern Vietnam it averaged closer to 120 inches. Bugs and
plants flourished, but the 90 plus humidity and the tropical, often
100F. heat was extremely oppressive to human existence. Tommy was glad
he had the night shift for the heat was not as bad then.
During the extra heavy rainfall or monsoon season, the ground would
flood with water, so a long three foot deep water runoff trench was
used. It was piled high on both sides with sandbags to keep the water
enclosed and was connected into a drainage ditch that ran into the
jungle. The trench paralled the perimeter fence which was about 25
yards from the mobile test stand. It was there that test engines were
mounted.
The test stand was joined by a series of wires and cables, to the
mobile trailer cab. The enclosed cab kept out the weather and contained
gages, dials and special instrumentation to monitor the operation of the
engine. It had an intercom connected to the outside headset of the
ground operator. The communication device permitted information
to be passed from the outside of the trailer, despite the
intense noise created by an engine operating. The intercom allowed, for
instance, the outside ground man to make adjustments to the engine
while it was running at low speeds.
The cab used power, provided by a battery and a large noisy diesel
generator. This power also ran an air conditioning unit in the cab and
it frequently was the only spot for miles that was at a cool
temperature. The diesel ate plenty of fuel of itself, but to feed the
operating jet engine, at max power, it took a gallon of JP-4 or jet fuel
per second. As a result, another large tank for jet fuel was also
necessary.
The entire base of Phan Rang had no central electrical supply,
therefore, anywhere that electrical power was needed, a diesel generator
was used. The generators were intended only for emergency, part-time
use of no more than 24 hours, but instead they were used around the
clock. Breakdowns were frequent, inconvenient and frustrating.
All of these power generators, all over the base, devoured enormous
amounts of fuel but, no problem, the tax payers were footing the bill.
There were at least ten major bases throughout Vietnam. The price of
fuel alone cost millions annually.
Even as big as this fuel bill was, it still did not include the monstrous amount of fuel it took to run all those thousands of differing types of aircraft, heavy machinery and government vehicles. Somebody was spending alot of money. Somebody was making alot of money. Tommy wondered if this wasn't the real purpose of the war. There was so much waste. Wasted money, wasted time and the biggest waste of all, human lives. But somehow, Tommy tried not to
question all these things. His country had sent him here and he was
bound to serve her, despite her faults.
As darkness settled more heavily on the surroundings, Airman Martin
adjusted his headset ear muffs and watched the operating J-57 jet engine
on the stand. The motor whined at a very high pitch and was extremely
painful to listen to without the benefit of ear protection. He pushed
the ear muffs on a little tighter and could see heat waves rising above
the rear of the engine thru the fading daylight.
Time to switch on the portable light-alls, he thought. These
illuminators were each about five times the dimension of a car
headlight. Two of these beam type lights set on each scissors,
telescopic stand and there were two stands. Tommy positioned the lights
from two angles so that the running motor could be clearly seen, amongst
all that green in the outskirts of the jungle. Still, it was a little
disturbing when the lights were on, for two reasons.
For one, the lights told everyone, including the curious and the
enemy, where they were. The enemy had never approached Phan Rang close
enough to do any real harm but, all this lighting still made it
unsettling. Two, it seemed that every insect in the universe was
attracted by those lights. Rice bugs were the worst. They looked like
a common housefly, but were 20 times as big. Vietnamese considered them
a delicacy and would bite off their head and suck out the juices, or so
was the story the G.I.s, who had been there "longer," told Tommy. Many
other bugs were also attracted to the light and then to the "vacuum" of
the air thirsty jet engine. These included giant dragonflys, all sorts
of moths and many types of flying beetles. A guy could get really
serious about a bug collection for his school biology class.
The variety of insects were in such abundance that often the six
foot diameter jet engine bellmouth air intake screen had to be scraped
clear of the clog of pests, otherwise the engine would suffocate and
shut down.
What a place to work, Airman Martin thought, but it's better than
facing the enemy in battle. Tommy had been given basic military
training in boot camp but no combat instruction, except for M-16 weapons
firing. His job as a mechanic simply did not require combat tutoring.
Martin wiped the sweat off his lip and forehead and could feel
trickles of perspiration running down his back, like droplets off
misted glass.
The humidity and heat were already high enough, but add
to it the tremendous heat generated by the operating motor and he felt
as if he were sweltering in a huge green oven. It was all he could do
to cast this feeling away and stay alert. He wore fatigue pants, part
green cloth and part black leather jungle boots and an olive drab green
T-shirt. He had on no hat, no fatigue overshirt and only his intercom
headset on his head and yet his sparse clothing was a thick, wool
horseblanket in that stifling temperature. Tommy never remembered
being so thoroughly uncomfortable.
"Better go over and check for leaks," SSgt Austin said over the
control booth cab intercom. Austin was the lead man of Tommy's small
outpost. Generated noise and explosion hazards required that test cell
be secluded and Austin knew this. He wasn't much older than Airman
Martin and had a sandy blonde complexion and ready smile.
Austin was working on his second 12 month tour in Vietnam, having a wealth of
experience at this test cell. He was relatively young to be the
supervisor and yet this was not uncommon in the military. He and his
men had many responsibilities and they were seriously undermanned. This
made for an outfit that was often long on hours and short on morale.
The oppressive, sticky heat and small choice of food rations coupled with poor
drinking water,added to the problem.
For all this inconvenience and drudgery, Austin and his crew and
all those military members in Vietnam, got an extra $65.00 a month above
their base pay grade. Not much compensation for a terrible way to live.
If they were lucky, they stayed in huge, open bay, two story barracks
with a row of GI bunk beds running the length of the building. Stand up
lockers separated the bunks so there was a little privacy in each
"cubicle." Wooden slats with screens were the outer walls, to let in a
little breeze. Center posts ran down the middle of the barracks to
support the upper floor. Not much, but better than tents.
Large, potable water jugs with paper cups were used for drinking,
since water thru the pipes was for bathing only. The
barracks were often near small hospitals and when helicopters flew in to
bring in the wounded for medical treatment, they would blow in clouds of
dust and debris. These would spread all over bunks, lockers, personal
effects and people. Keeping things clean became a joke.
Latrines were in Quonset Huts across from the barracks and they
consisted of showers, toilets and sinks. Something else that didn't come with tents.
Often the barracks had no electricity, since this was provided by
diesel generators that broke down.
The use of generators was restricted to priority units, only. Fans
and air conditioners were rare unless someone could get their hands on a
small, portable fan that ran on batteries. Seldom did the base exchange
or BX have batteries in stock, however. Plenty were available
on the black market.
The U.S. military in Vietnam were paid with military payment
certificates or M.P.C., sometimes known as "funny money." There were no
coins or change. All denominations, from pennies to dollars were MPC.
The largest denomination was a $10.00 bill, so when Austin received his
$300.00 a month pay, they were all only paid once a month, he could
hardly close his wallet, it was so thick. The money was only good in
Vietnam. Greenback dollars and change were exchanged for MPC when
coming into the country as part of the "in-processing" requirement. The
reverse exchange happened on departure.
Funny money came in all the colors of the rainbow and had all sorts
of unfamiliar faces and inscriptions on bills. Fancy paper and printing
were used to discourage counterfeiting. The use of regular dollars was
forbidden in order to hamper black marketing efforts.
Even so, just about anything could be purchased on the black market
if a soldier, sailor, airman or marine didn't mind paying at least twice
the price, in greenback., It was obviously illegal but it was the only
way Austin thought he could get another wristwatch when his had broken.
Two other men besides Airman Martin, worked for Austin. Airman
First Class (E-4) Willie Gray and Airman Second Class (E-3) Ted Carson.
Both had about as long in the military as Tommy did. Gray was outside
with ear portection near Martin.
The huge fire extinguisher on wheels
was on reserve nearby, should there be a reason to use it. Gray had
"fireguard" duty and stood by the device in case action in that regard
was necessary. Carson and Austin were inside the air conditioned
control cab. Positions were switched from engine run to engine run so
that no one got stuck with one particular job. That way, all could feel
air conditioned air now and then and everyone was fully trained, in case
a member of the unit was absent.
As Martin approached the motor, that was running at idle, he looked
for any obvious fuel, oil, or hydraulic leaks. These could cause fires
when the liquid came in contact with the hot engine surface and he also
looked for air leaks, which could cause loss of engine power,
He was still sweating profusely, trying to keep the salty sweat
from burning his eyes. He saw no visible problems on his first walk
around. The big jet engine just sat there at low power, quivering,
pulsating, screaming, as if to say, "let me loose!"
Not yet," Tommy thought back. "We've got to make sure you've been
put back together right, or you could explode in some pilot's plane."
Tommy often made believe he was having a secret conversation with the
engines. It helped him to concentrate on what he was doing, despite
sour conditions.
"Going up on the hard stand," he told Austin over the intercom.
The hard stand or HS, supported the frame of the engine thru a series of
mounts. Tommy was looking for stress cracks, loose connections and any
previously undetected leaks. He could only stand on the HS for a few
seconds at a time, because the heat was so intense. He was done
inspecting the right side and went under the engine to get to the left.
"Going under," he reported, to keep the control booth posted.
Tremendous air suction at the front of the motor and extremely hot
exhaust gas temperature at the rear of the engine, prevented him from
going around. Going under was his only option. He finally got up on
the left side of the HS when it happened.
A stainless steel air access plate had exploded loose. It was two
inches thick and about the shape and size of a small pancake. The
circular marman clamp that had been holding it on had broken. It was
either not installed properly or had corroded loose. At any rate, it
nearly killed Tommy. Austin saw it happen and noted the immediate drop
in compressor bleed pressure. It was an emergency situation and he
immediately shut the motor down, cutting off fuel flow.
As the motor was winding down, Austin ran up to Airman Martin.
"Are you OK, Tommy?" he asked. "That couldn't have missed you by more
than an inch or two. It would have taken off your head!"
Martin was dazed. "Just scared me a little. Someone must have
been watching out for me."
"Yeah, well whoever it is, I hope he keeps it up. You can see why
life insurance is hard to get on this job. Anyway, you need a break and
it's time for midnight chow. You and Gray head for the Marine Chow Hall
and Carson and I will call the shop and have them deliver us another
clamp and air access plate. The old plate shot so far into the jungle,
we'll never find it," Austin barked.
Martin headed for the makeshift bathroom to get ready for chow.
The latrine had a plywood door and walls with a horizontal flap door in
the back. A fifty gallon drum was cut in half and served as the
receptacle for the two holes in the plywood seats above. Each morning,
all over the base, the drum halves were taken out and about a quart of
fuel was poured into them to dispose of the waste from the previous day.
It was kind of an 0500 hours or 5 AM ritual. Little black smoke signal
fires could be seen everywhere.
In this tropical environment, diseases like malaria spread rapidly.
Everyone was required to take a yellow malaria pill one day a week and
Monday was designated as that day. A white salt tablet a day was
required on Tuesday through Sunday. The climate and food change of
Vietnam often caused diarrhea, as did the malaria pill itself.
This was especially a problem if military people became confused as
to the requirements and took a salt tablet on Monday and malaria pills
on the other days of the week. In such cases GIs would spend alot of
time at these smelly, bug infested latrines.
Rain buckets collected water and were used to rinse hands with
soap. Drinking water was provided for the final rinse only. Water jugs
and buckets were kept near the latrines for this purpose. It was a
popular, if not pleasant place to be, however Gray and Martin did not
linger, but took the mile long walk to chow. Thunder roared off in the
distance as they left and Tommy figured another rainstorm was on the
way. That was odd, he wondered, for there were no clouds in the sky.
For all other meals, the men at test cell ate in the much more
appealing Air Force Chow Hall. It was staffed by full time cooks and
supplemented with K.P.s or part time kitchen police details. The
quality of food preparation was much better and variety of food items
offered was wider. Even though "C" rations were better than the old
WWII "K" rations, they were still pretty poor eating. "C" rations
consisted of small olive drab green cans filled with vitamin fortified
things like ham and eggs, meatloaf, spam, pork and beans, nut rolls and
fruit cocktail, mentioned here from yuk to OK. They were the best fed
military in the world but you would never know it from the complaints.
The best way to be sure you ate a full meal was to skip a couple. That
way, hunger motivation made up for taste and feel appeal.
A hot meal, even if it was tough, stringy roast beef and instant
mashed potatoes, four or five days a week, was better than "C" rations.
Sometimes the test cell folks brought their own meal and ate at the test
cell to avoid taking the night walk. They would leave hungry and by the
time they returned from the mile walk back, they were hungry again.
Also Marine chow was not all that thrilling. Mess kits consisted of a
metal TV dinner size plate and three utensils, knife, fork and spoon.
After eating their meal they had to go outside to the boiling water
cans and dunk their utensils in, before placing them on the wash table.
They were treated like outcasts, a couple of fly boys eating with
Marines and they sat on picnic tables in a huge tent. The best thing
about the whole trip was that they got an hour off from work and could
talk without the noise of the test cell to interrupt. Still, one hour
to walk a mile there, eat and a mile back, in putrid heat was not always
very pleasant. Legs & feet got tired of standing. However, they were also able to listen to the radio.
The only English speaking radio station was broadcast by the Armed
Forces Network or AFN. Here, the military made an attempt to give the
GIs a taste of home. Some programs were taped sessions of syndicated
shows back in the states or the "Land of the Big BX," and they were much
appreciated. Other programs were poorly done or old fashioned and
outdated. Electricity was not readily available, so most programs were
listened to on battery operated, transistor radios.
Every morning, all over the base, the echo of thousands of radios
could be heard screaming, "Goooooood morning, Vietnam!" It was kind of
a tradition. During the day, at scheduled times, were, "The Adventures
of Chickennnnn Man. He's everywhere, he's everywhere!" Sheer nonsense.
Guys like Otis Redding, Sam Cook, Johnny Cash James Brown, Jim Morrison, Jimi
Hendrix, Gary Puckett, Wilson Picket, Roy Clark, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Ray
Charles, Johnny Cash, Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, John Lennon, and gals
like Aretha Franklin, Mary Wells, Willie Nelson, Gladice Knight, Joan Biaz, Nancy
Sinatra, Mama Cass, Janis Joplin, Leslie Gore, Tammy Terrell, and Diana
Ross pelted the airways with hits that kept folks hopping. The Four
Seasons, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, The Lemon Pipers, The Beach
Boys, The Pips, The Supremes, Buck Owens, Credance and many more were there, to remind men and women of home.
It was more than just music, more than rock and roll, more than
soul and & country western. It was a longing, a culture, a way of
life. Perhaps not really that important by itself, & in some cases, distracting
but rather a familiar lifeline to hold onto in this miserable, humid country. A country that seemed to know nothing but war.
Sometimes immense, unannounced U.S.O. Shows like, "Bob Hope
and Company," would come in to entertain with the latest music by way
of comedy and bands and popular females in "go-go" outfits. The group
would drop into some base suddenly so that the enemy would not have time
to spoil the show. Security was tight and large groups of military
members were notified to set aside their long hour duty days for a few
moments, while they watched the stateside troupe in monstrous, outdoor
amphitheaters, despite the weather.
And yet today, none of these things were on the minds of Tommy and
Willie as they ambled to chow. Instead, Tommy listened as Willie Gray
told him of the girl waiting back home. It was the girl that Gray was
really serious about. They had dated steadily his last year of high
school.
"Man, I didn't even know you had a girlfriend, Willie. You
plannin' on marriage or what?"
"Virginia and I pledged ourselves to each other before I left,"
Willie spoke sincerely. Gray and Martin had known each other since
basic training. Tommy was one of the few men he could trust to be a
real friend.
"We are 18,000 miles away from home, Gray. What makes you think
she's not going out with someone else?"
"Hey, we gave each other a promise. Besides, you can tell when a
girl is just giving you a line or is insincere. Not only that,
Virginia, Jennie, I call her, has the engagement ring I gave her. As
soon as I leave this terrible place, I'm marrying that girl and then I'm
not leaving her side again!" Willie spoke with deep yearning, as if in
doing so, he could bring her near. "Oh, you ought to see her Tommy.
The daintest thing God ever made. A pretty face with the cutest
dimples, honeysuckle lips but, best of all, a real sweet dispostion. My
heart melts just thinking of her!"
They talked steadily of Jennie and their plans for the future, all
the way to the base. As they neared the lights of the Marine Mess
Hall, they could see the Vietnamese mama sans, dressed in their native,
black, silky looking pants and tops and conical, straw hats. The women
were working at picking up trash, sweeping and cleaning.
The women were chewing black, beetle nut, which stained their teeth
the same color and had a small narcotic effect. Two of the women were
sitting down in sort of a leaned over squat, with their arms between
their legs. Other women were picking lice out of the hair of those who
squatted. A couple of them were younger and more attractive, but, for
the most part, there was not much competition to draw Willie's attention
from thoughts of Jennie.
South Vietnamese men and women worked all over the base and looked
no different from the NVA or North Vietnamese Army or "Charlie," as the
enemy was sometimes called. The American bases gave them employment in
all sorts of menial jobs, where they made miniscule wages by our
standards, but lucrative money by their own measuring stick. It was
often difficult to tell the friendlies from the enemies. They looked
the same, they spoke the same, difficult to pronounce, language. Their
culture and way of life was entirely foreign to Tommy. Unfortunately,
many were, in fact, employed by both sides. Giving haircuts, for
instance, to American GIs during the day and by night, shooting rockets
or weapons from outside the base. On rare occasions, when these
individuals were discovered, they were simply fired and kicked off the
base. This presented no problem to the turncoats, however, for they
just picked up shop to the outskirts of another American base and were
employed at the new location, where they continued their same two-faced
game.
Many Vietnamese and even Korean nationals worked at laundramats. Tommy bought ten new sets of underwear when he got in country. When his laundry got dirty, he turned in ten sets of underwear to the laundramat and got ten sets back, but not his own. Old, torn, wrong size underwear and someone else got his. After that, he washed out his own laundry by hand and hung it out to dry. Of course it would never dry in that high humidity and no dryers or washers were available, so he often wore wet underwear, along with everyone else.
Soon, Tommy's and Willie's gourmet meal was over and, realizing
that they had ambled too long in getting to chow, they quickly walked or
half trotted through the night darkness, heading back to the lights in
the distance that marked the test cell. For once the night was not all
that overcast. The rain had quit and the sliver of a moon cast eerie
shadows. What sounded like thunder had continued, unabated, despite
the break in the weather.
As the pair approached the outskirts of their destination, it
became chillingly obvious what all the noise, far off, was about. They
could see it now, perhaps two hundred yards distance. The flash of
small arms fire was attacking the Army's 101st Airborne Division that
formed a ring around the perimeter of the base. Our solders were
surprised, sorely outnumbered and losing ground. The 1968 NVA Tet
Offensive, wherein every base in South Vietnam was being attacked
simultaneously, had begun. Willie and Tommy froze, mouths agape. The
next few moments rushed by so quick they had little time to think or
react.
"Ahhhh!" Willie suddenly screamed, as he fell to the grounds He
was clutching his head, that was already bleeding. The right side of
his face had been torn away.
"Hug the dirt! Get down!" Austin was yelling. Small arms rounds
began zinging here and there, bouncing off obstacles.
"Ahhh!" Willie repeated. It was like he, all at once, could say
nothing else.
Tommy crouched low and grabbed Willie and began heading for the
water ditch that was loosely banked by sandbags. The two, half crawled,
half fell into the ditch that had a couple inches of mud and water in
the bottom.
"Hang on Willie," Tommy pleaded. We're calling for help. We'll
get you to the clinic. Hang on!" Tommy took off his outer fatigue
shirt and wrapped it into a ball. He put it against Gray's head, trying
to stop the gushing, red flow, but he could see it was already too late.
With all the energy Willie could muster, he spoke the last word he
would ever utter in this life. "Jennie!"
"Nooo!!" Tommy bellowed, burying his head in Willie's chest.
"I repeat, we are under attack!" Austin was yelling on the
portable radio. "One man already down. We are taking small arms fire.
Send help. We are being overrun!" Tommy could here the panic in
Austin's voice.
Carson and Austin had already put on their flak vests and helmets
and were in the water ditch with Tommy. Martin could see that they had
brought the M-16 rifles out of the CONEX or heavy duty metal storage
shed, with a few clips of ammunition. Tommy hadn't touched an M-16
since before his arrival in Vietnam.
"Put these on and load this!" Austin barked as he handed Tommy a
helmet, flak vest and weapon. Tommy just stared at Willie, as if he
was in a trance. "I said put it on!" Austin yelled, "or do you want to
be next?"
The angry words stirred Tommy back to harsh reality and he quickly
donned his equipment. "Turn off those light-alls!" Austin ordered and
Carson crouched and ran to do so.
Suddenly, Tommy felt a bullet round sting his helmet and throw his
head back into a rock and then all was black. When he awoke, searing
pain tore at the back of his head. He could feel matted blood dried
against his hair on the back of his skull. The bullet had hit his
helmet shortly after he put it on. If Austin had not brought him out of
his lethargy, Martin might have died. Instead, the round had dented
his helmet. The wound on the back of his head had only been enough to
cause him to lose consciousness for a few moments.
As his vision cleared he saw SSgt Austin slouched over on one side,
his whole middle blown open. He had put on his flak vest but had not
buttoned it up the middle. It had cost him his life.
It was dark all around them, except for the faint light of the
moon. Carson was in a frenzy. "You're alive!" he said. "I thought you
were shot in the head! It's only us two! Six of them are almost to the
perimeter fence, more on the way! How can we hold them? We've only got
60 rounds of ammo left, three clips of twenty each! There's no way that
we..." The bullet caught him neatly between the lip of the helmet and
the bridge of his nose. He did not suffer. He was gone instantly.
This can't be happening, Tommy thought. They are all dead. Just a
few moments ago, they were all alive and now they're all dead and I'm
next. How can I stand against all those NVA coming this way. They're
after the big ammo dump and the communication building, just down from
us. That's why they're coming this way. I can't fight them alone.
I've got to run for it. They're not shooting anymore. They got Carson
and they think we're all dead. I could go hide. Maybe under the floor
of the CONEX shed. They'd never find me. They're too busy running for
the ammo dump and comm site to even look. Our Marines will be here
soon. I heard Austin call them before he died. Marines are trained to
fight. I'm no grunt. Why be a hero. I'll only get killed. This is a
stupid war anyway. Nobody would blame me for running.
At that point, Tommy almost bolted for the CONEX, but something
made him stop. No, he thought. I'm not a quitter and I'm not a coward
and neither were these three men who gave their lives only a few minutes
ago. The enemy is attacking MY country's base. They killed my friends.
They killed Americans on the outside perimeter of this base to get here.
They may kill me, but I will not turn and run. I will fight and I will
not surrender. I will conquer or die.
I can't believe I'm thinking this, Tommy continued. It's so corny.
You want to get up and wave a flag and sing God Bless America or
something? He chided, scolded, belittled himself, but it was to no
avail. He had made a decision to fight, win or lose and so it was that
he devised a small plan.
Tommy was no combat veteran, but he did know how to shoot his
rifle. He had won a marksmanship ribbon and had a deadly aim, but thus
far, had only shot paper targets. He had never killed a man, nor ever
wanted to. He would not kill these men if they would leave. He did not
thirst for blood or revenge, but he had joined the military and taken an
oath. He had sworn to defend his country and countrymen from all
enemies, foreign and domestic and now he was duty bound to keep his
promise.
Six of the enemy approached the twelve foot high perimeter fence
and began to scale it. They did not pause to fire and did not leave
anyone on the ground to watch for return fire. It was like he had
thought. They expected no more resistance. The NVA were in a big
hurry. They wanted to get inside the fence and do their damage before
resistance could be mobilized. They were taking chances and that, at
least, was to Tommy's advantage.
He only had 60 rounds. Tommy had to make every bullet count, but
he also had to make sure that all six of the enemy were killed
instantly. He could not last long against veteran combat troops. He
set his weapon for semi-automatic. That made it work like a machine
gun, but with only twenty rounds in the first clip, be would get one
burst and have to reload.
They were only about 25 yards from his position. Panic made him
want to open fire now, but he fought the urge. No, he thought. I've got
to wait till they're higher on the fence, less able to grab their
weapons and more apt to hurt themselves from the fall. He took careful
aim, knowing the weapon would pull up when he squeezed the trigger.
He would have to start with the bottom man and work up. He would have
to rely on surprise.
His flak vest was buttoned fully. He did not want to make the
mistake Austin had made. It was already steaming hot, even for
nightfall, but the heavy, armor plated flak vest and thick, double
layered helmet made it hotter still. Big drops of salty sweat
threatened to blind his vision and spoil his aim. He could not allow
that. This was no time for hasty, fear ridden, pot shots. He forced
himself to be calm, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. He
waited. He waited. Almost. Holding his breath to keep the rising and
falling of his chest from moving his weapon, he centered on the body of
the bottom man and pulled the trigger.
The sudden popping of his weapon surprised even him. It was not
like gun fire in the movies. Instead, it sounded like a giant,
amplified popcorn machine with little tings of sound as the brass
cartridges expelled and collided with the ground. His aim had been a
little off. He took out the first five together but the sixth enemy
soldier he missed, being the soldier highest on the fence. The enemy
jumped to the ground in a flurry and in doing so, twisted his ankle,
crying out in pain. Scrambling, he reached for his weapon, but it was
too late. Martin finished him with the remaining bullets left in the
clip.
Tommy quickly pushed the button that released the empty clip and
put in a new one of twenty more rounds. Forty bullets left. He looked
at the fence. Six bodies, no movement. It was so quiet, like nothing
had happened. He wanted to vomit. He had just killed six men. Could
he do it again? The next group of ten would not be as easy and they
were already approaching the fence. They had seen what had happened and
they were not happy. Laying on the ground, the whole bunch of them
began firing at once. The quiet of before was replaced with sheer
bedlam. One of the rounds hit the test cell fuel dump 50 yards behind
him and it immediately exploded into a huge ball of flame, rising
hundreds of feet into the skye Gone was his cover of darkness. Dirt
and bullets flew everywhere. He hugged his helmet and got as far into
the ditch as he could, crawling to the opposite end of where he had been
before.
After a few moments, the shooting stopped. They must think I'm
dead, he thought. He glanced between the slits in the sandbags and
could see about four NVA scaling the fence and the rest of the soldiers
with their rifles pointed in his direction in case he was still alive
or in the event he began to shoot. As he analyzed what to do next, he
realized that his left arm was bleeding just above the elbow. With all
the adrenalin flow of before he had not noticed it. Searing pain began
to trace its way up his arm and shoulder. I've got to hang on he
reasoned. The wound isn't serious, he saw after looking it over. It
just grazed the flesh.
The immediate threat to me is not the soldiers on the fence but the
ones poised on the ground. I have got to take them out first. He found
a place between two, tightly packed sandbags that had just enough room
for his rifle barrel and a slit of vision. Once again he waited. The
soldiers on the fence neared the top. The ones on the ground made much
harder targets so once again he aimed carefully.
The natural tendency of the weapon, when firing, was to pull up.
That had made his first shots easy, but now he had to shoot,
horizontally, along the ground, holding his weapon down and steady with
an injured left arm. It made for a much more difficult shot but he
had no more time to think about it. He had to open fire before the
others climbed over the fence. Had one already gotten over? He was not
sure. Again, holding his breath, fighting panic, he squeezed the
trigger.
Three of the shooters were eliminated or at least not able to
return fire but the rest were unharmed and began firing aggressively.
Tommy moved farther down the trench, quickly took aim at three men on
the fence and saw them fall. But weren't there four men climbing? He
was shaking now, partly from pain, partly from nerves, partly from the
bullets flying everywhere. Finally, they quit shooting. Only twenty
bullets left. He put in the last clip and then heard a sound behind
him, but it was too late. By the time he turned around, the NVA soldier
had already leveled his AK-47, Russian built assault rifle, level with
Tommy's chest and pulled the trigger.
It should have never happened. No way. It had not happened all
night, but for some reason the AK-47 rifle jammed. The soldier even had
time to push the trigger again before Tommy came to his senses enough to
pull the trigger of his own rifle. Martin had not the time to think,
only react. Tommy's weapon was still on semi-automatic and he pumped
all twenty rounds into the soldier, from crotch to neck. The impact of
all those bullets at once, hitting his body, literally picked the
soldier up and hurled him backwards into the mud. He died immediately.
The shock of what had just happened hit Martin so hard that he could not
contain himself any longer. He turned over on his side and with painful
wrenches emptied his stomach of the Marine chow he had so recently
eaten.
There in that wretched, stinking, filthy ditch lay his three fallen
comrades and an enemy soldier. I'm gonna be next, he thought. I have
no ammunition. The other NVA soldiers started firing once more and he
could see more of the enemy approaching. What am I supposed to do,
take on the whole NVA? Yeah, he figured, remember? Or die trying. He
had become so weak that even breathing seemed a labor. Maybe if I can
get that jammed AK-47 to work, I can hold them off a little longer. He
pulled the foreign weapon toward him but suddenly heard gunfire to his
rear.
A huge force of U.S. Marines were coming up. As he looked back
at the fence, he could see the NVA already retreating. In no time, what
looked to be a veteran Marine Sargeant approached Tommy.
"I been watching you from a distance for a long time, Airman," the
old Sarge said. "You're a one man army. You ever get tired of being a
fly boy, we got a place for you in the Marines!" The Sargeant and the
Marines with him moved speedily past Tommy in pursuit of the enemy and
suddenly, for Tommy, the excitement was all over.
Tommy Martin was just an ordinary young man. Not much different in
alot of ways from you and me. No hero here. But as he heard
reinforcements storming forward, Tommy Martin, sat in the mud, lowered
his head and cryed, cryed as if he would never stop.
