Vietnam Terrorism

Vietnam Terrorism

AND BEYOND

© Copyright 2007 Marion Wehmeyer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

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ISBN 978-1-4907-2256-6 (e)

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

About the Author

VIETNAM TERRORISM

A novelization by Marion Wehmeyer

Inspired by actual events

Trafford Publishing

For the soldiers of all wars, supporters of freedom, and all loyal patriots against terrorism.

Acknowledgments

My thanks to the Third Marine Division and its operational officers during the Vietnam War, and to the staff of the Michael E DeBecky Veterans Administration of Houston, Texas, the Veterans of Foreign Wars, and the American Legion members for their continued support of veterans everywhere. A special thanks to those who fight against terrorism wherever it exists.

Chapter 1

L/Cpl Marion Morris sat ond somewhat neatly in rolls, under the olive drab heavy canvas tent that made up the sleeping quarters for the marines stationed at the La Chau firebase 12 miles Southwest of Da Nang, Vietnam. His aching muscles and droopy eyes showed evidence of a long, hot day of hard work at the firebase. His feet ached almost as bad as his head as he held his forehead in his tired calloused hands. His thin 170 lb body looked as if it had been roasted by the sun like some unfortunate road kill. He sat there just barely able to move. Unless there was a serious reason, he intended to remain right there!

The night was so hot that it captured a foggy mist that covered the rice paddies that lay below the firebase. A marine patrol methodically worked its way through the barbed wire that surrounded the compound, to enter the dark, foggy valley below. The fog seemed to beckon the marines to enter, implying a misery from which there was no return. Marion wiped the sweat from his eyes letting it drop to the dirt floor at random. He slipped his dust covered jungle boot off his foot, and placed it upright under his cot as he slapped at the mosquitoes around his legs. He placed his other boot next to the first one; it also was placed upright in the hope that it would discourage the scorpions and spiders from seeking shelter there from the incessant heat. Marion had been working on his amtrac, a Marine Corps 60 ton amphibious armored and tracked personnel carrier, for most of the day. It was a relief just to have his boots off! Everyone was use to the smell of the sweat soaked boots by now. Catching a ride on any light breeze available, the smell unmercifully radiated through the big tent accenting the many body orders.

Marion’s buddy, Sgt Jack stared at the exhausted dirty marine who had just sat next to him, with a puzzled look of concern mixed with the anxiety of being disturbed. Resisting the temptation to butt in, but knowing he was going to anyway, he stated, Tough day at the office eh new guy! Jack couldn’t stand the lack of attention. He had to break the silence. A large field mouse skirted across the ground running at lighting speed. Jack threw a C-Rat can at it and waited for Marion to say something. Marion, slow to respond looked at Jack with a cold stare and softly said, What do you think? I think you look ugly, boot, Jack quickly touted with his own empty stare. Yeah, not half as ugly as your mother, Marion shot back, too tired to even look up. Hey ugly, you’re just another poor dumb ‘Boomer’ in the ‘Nam, man. You know that? Your mother wouldn’t even claim your ugly face! Marion was used to being hazed. He lowered his head as he placed his M-14 rifle within easy reach at the head of his cot. Well, you got that one right, Marion sadly said, knowing Jack was full of attitude anyway. Man its hot tonight, remarked Jack, who thought nothing of Marion’s insulting comeback. Do you think Mr. Victor Charlie cares? remarked Marion, as he placed his M-14 ammo belt next to his rifle. The phonetic letters VC of the military alphabet, stated as Victor Charlie was used to refer to the Viet Cong, also called VC, or simply just Charlie. Everyone knew the VC were better at handling the extreme heat than the young Americans. It was VC land, their part of the world, Southeast Asia, 12,000 miles on the other side of the world from America. Vietnam, consisting of thick, hot jungle growth that surrounded the Annam Mountain Cordillera, and of lowland valleys of rice paddies that bordered the mighty Kong River network that wound through the coastal range leading to the South China Sea. It was a hot, wet, inhospitable, and foreign piece of hell for the Americans! The tough, battle hardened VC weren’t raised with the luxury of air conditioning. They did not use soft cushioned automobiles to move around in their country. They walked everywhere they went through that inhospitable jungle. The Americans were most assuredly in for a long, hard fight in this war; a war not understood by most Americans, but full of political implications for world order; a Hot War that sprang from the Cold War" hysteria that engulfed the Americans and the Communist alike following WWII. Marion was from the poor south, so he offered the VC a worthy opponent, hardened from the harsh land of Texas; tough as nails, an ordinary American soldier prepared to do his military duty, but longing for a moment of peace in a divided world. Marion lay back in his cot, keeping his dirty clothes on, not concerned about fowling his bunk. Jack kept talking, but Marion faded out, as he closed his eyes and began to dream. Glimpses of his childhood danced through his head, experiences all but forgotten, and which by now were mostly an illusion to him. Marion’s innocence was snatched from him the first time he experienced combat in this unpopular war that he and his generation had inherited.

SGT Jack, a city boy from the streets of Chicago, having survived the gang wars, was prepared to do his part. He was quite a contrast to Marion. He was fast talking and rude to others, while Marion was soft spoken, with a certain amount of Southern gentleness. Both boys were physical specimens of toughness, strong willed, and determined individuals. They were an unlikely mix for friendship, but they tended to like each other anyway. Seeing that Marion had dozed off for the moment, Jack lay back on his cot, unsure if he should awaken Marion, but more sure about wanting to live till the next morning.

Everyone lived in constant fear of their lives in Vietnam. It was an unspoken fear, covered up by constant tough talk and vigilant behavior. The only relief from the tension was the expectation of going home after one year of combat. Jack was tough, but he was counting his days one day at a time like everyone else.

It should have been a clue to the marines near the villages of La Chau and Dai Loc that something was up, because the normal sound of the night was different. No rifle fire or explosions could be heard in the distance, and even the frogs in the rice paddies below were unusually quiet. The machine gunner at post # 5 nervously scanned the field in front of him. The dense fog had slowly increased during the night. It was very hard to see through the fog that had gained momentum from the cool air coming from the mountain tops. The cool air collided with the hot air below, sending cold chills down Pvt Bill Bailey’s spine. Bill hadn’t been in Vietnam very long, maybe two weeks at the most. He was 18 years old from California, the land of the fruits and nuts. I must be ‘nuts’ to be in this God forsaken place, thought Bill, as he checked his ammo belt that fed the 30 cal machine gun in front of him. Bill manned the machine gun sitting in a deer like stand surrounded by sand bags that over looked the foggy valley below.

Sergeant Bark patrolled just inside of the perimeter barbed wire. He walked the line from post to post, checking the night guards. Halt, who goes there, shouted Pvt Bill as the sergeant approached his post. Sgt Bark wasn’t in the mood to be challenged. He had been in the corps nearly 20 years. He had been up and down the ranks so often, he had been every rank more than once. Now with only a couple of months left in Vietnam, and ready to retire as soon as he returned stateside, he had little respect for new guys. Who do you think it is, you nit wit? Knock off that boot camp crap! Can’t you tell the difference between a Marine and Charlie, you idiot? Pvt Bill did not know Sgt Bark, but he instantly disliked him. Where are you from boot? snorted Sgt Bark, making conversation just to keep Pvt Bill awake. I’m from California, Pvt Bill defensively remarked. Oh, you’re one of those Hollywood Marines, huh? growled Sgt Bark, as he sized up the new guy. He knew the Pvt was a scared and nervous young greenhorn. From the land of the fruits and nuts, Pvt Bill proudly stated. Bill had had enough of the old salts remarks. Sensing the new guy’s tension, Sgt Bark backed off his egotistical remarks. Its eerie out there, with the fog and all, stated the Sgt. It gives me the creeps. Have you seen anything unusual tonight? No, said Pvt Bill, sharply. I can’t explain it, but I have a hunch something is up, added the sergeant, momentarily shaking his whole body to relieve nervous tension. To show that he wasn’t all gruff the sergeant stayed a few minutes to exchange some small talk, like who won the Super bowl, or do you have a girl back home? etc. After a few moments the sergeant stood up to leave. Keep your eyes open, you hear! I want to get back home next month, seriously explained the sergeant. I’m much too irritable to sleep, replied Pvt Bill. I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to tonight, remarked Pvt Bill. By now Pvt Bill was beginning to realize that the sergeant wasn’t as bad as he first concluded. Good! I’ll see you later on the return trip. I’ll be walking-the-line all night, informed Sgt Bark, who slowly climbed down from the post and began walking away. The sergeant disappeared into the night fog, and Pvt Bill resumed his lonely vigil. He felt better after talking with the more experienced sergeant. Still, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve as he peered outward.

Marion thought he had just laid his head down, but that was at midnight! It was now 3:00 AM in the morning. Then all hell broke loose. The incoming mortars shattered the stillness of the night without warning. The exploding mortars were so close, the tent shuttered under the impact as Marion was tossed from his rack. Dazed but OK, Marion all in one motion, quickly grabbed his boots, pulled them over his socks without lacing them, grabbed his rifle and ammo, and ran for cover. Machine gun fire could be heard coming from Post # 5 as the VC sapper unit, NVA trained Commandoes, attacked! Marion ran across a field through the falling mortars. Shrapnel whizzed past his head, ripping the US flag hanging from the Command Post Bunker, tearing holes in it the size of marbles, and shredding the front end of it to pieces. It could have been Marion’s face instead, but he ran by it so fast he could have made the Olympic sprint team! Dodging the incoming explosions, he ran full speed toward a ditch across the field. He jumped, no,flew through the air into the ditch. Two other marines joined him. What in the name of hell is happening? shouted one of the men. The ‘gooks’ are breeching the perimeter. All the firing is taking place over by Post # 5! Marion shouted back. They’ll try to get the fuel storage pods for sure, Marion shouted, to no one who was listening. We have to get up there! hollered Marion. Not on your life, shouted one of the Marines who happened to be a company cook. They’re inside the perimeter, man! shouted Marion over the noise of the explosions just as hot shrapnel whistled over the ditch from the exploding mortars. I’m going up there! shouted Marion momentarily ducking low. He then leaped from the ditch at a full run towards the firefight.

Jerking his run like a halfback trying to avoid being tackled, Marion made his way toward the amtracs and gasoline fuel depot. Flares, shot up from the bunkers facing the field, lit up the hill side exposing Marion to the shooting VC. Marion hit the dirt to avoid being cut in half by the enemy fire. The flares swayed to the earth under their tiny parachutes, going out as they neared the ground and blacking out the night sky. Marion jumped up in the darkness, and ran again toward his amtrac which was positioned with the others on top of the hill. Another flare exposed the VC that were inside the perimeter. They were running around the Amtracs, throwing satchel charges under each one. One explosion after another rocked the amtracs. Reaching his amtrac, Marion and his fellow marines cut the VC down as they ran. A tremendous explosion then rocked Marion’s amtrac. Marion ducked behind it, as the VC who threw the satchel charge ran right past him! A M-14 round hit the VC in his back. In severe pain he tumbled to the ground, and spun in a circle as if he was a dog chasing his wagging tail. Two more bullets instantly shredded his body. Another VC, having already thrown his satchel charge, jumped over the barbed wire at full stride into the bush. The VC was shot as he desperately crawled for cover. The VC only crawled about 10 yards before two marines spotted him. They both fired at him at the same time. Hit again, the VC curled up into the fetal position and died!

Sergeant Bark ran over to L/Cpl Marion, who was firing at the VC from behind the tracks of his amtrac. The supply tent is burning! The flames will set off the bunker munitions. We’ve got to get this amtrac out of here, barked Sgt Bark. The supply tent covered a bunker facing the perimeter. It was directly in front of Marion’s amtrac. Tracer bullets whizzed from the bunker in every direction, like fireworks on the fourth of July. Get this amtrac started, and pull it to the right flank of the perimeter, over there! pointed Sgt Bark. Marion didn’t know if the amtrac could be moved, since it had just taken a direct hit from the satchel charge. The fuel cells did not explode after the blast, but any spark could set them off if even one was ruptured. Move marine, move! hollered Sgt Bark, as he ran away firing his weapon from his hip.

Marion knew Sgt Bark was right. He had to move the amtrac or it would explode from the intense blaze directly in front of it. With bullets whizzing from the blaze, and VC firing continuously into the perimeter, Marion climbed toward the top of the amtrac. The blaze from the tent fire singed his hair as he tried to open one of the hatches. The only way to enter the amtrac was from one of the hatches on top of it, where Marion was completely exposed to the blaze, the VC firing into the perimeter, and from the munitions exploding in the fire. Slowly climbing, he hugged the built-in latter on the side of the amtrac so tight he looked like part of the amtrac bulkhead. I’m going to get hit for sure! I must be out of my mind! This is it! This is what separates the men from the boys, mumbled Marion, as he rolled onto the top of the amtrac as the bullets struck mercilessly close by his head. Marion crawled to the first hatch. He grabbed the latch handle while lying on his stomach. He pulled hard to release the hatch as several bullets ricocheted off the steel. Ping, ping, ping cracked the bullets as they seemed to come from everywhere all at once. The top hatch finally came open after several hard pulls! Marion peered into the hatch opening at the darkness below. He noticed one of the side hatches was open. The side hatch was normally used as an escape hatch. Are there VC already inside waiting for me down there? thought Marion, in a moment of indecision. Will I be jumping into the waiting arms of a VC? Still lying flat on his stomach with bullets flying overhead, Marion reached for his K-bar knife, and held it in his right hand. Except for an occasional flicker of light from a flare shining through the escape hatch hole, it was pitch black down there. Marion’s adrenaline surged into overdrive just before he jumped into the darkness. It was a 10ft drop into total blackness to the deck below. His feet hit the steel deck hard, but he managed to stay upright. With his knife in hand, he instantly gave out a primordial yell as he viciously spun in a circle fully expecting to slash a waiting VC. After slashing hard in the dark in all directions, Marion squatted down low and listened for any movement. He could see nothing in the pitch black cargo space of the am-trac, and all he could hear was the flrefight outside. Marion knew he was in the rear of the amtrac. The control console was in the front. Feeling certain now that no VC had entered the amtrac through the opening of the escape hatch, he began to feel his way toward the front. He was like a blind man, but he knew every inch of the cargo space of his amtrac so he recognized where he was just by feeling around. He started feeling from the deck, and worked his way up to the bulkhead until he recognized the lock feature of the storage cabinet.