Page 10 of Cry Havoc
He heard shouting in Vietnamese as the helo lifted off just as a second RPG sailed under its fuselage.
Tom’s element reversed course and sprinted to the relative safety of the tree line as the first mortars impacted the LZ.
The mortars didn’t even need to bracket,Tom thought.They knew we would come here and were already sighted in.
Motherfuckers.
All they had to do was wait another minute and we would have been dead.
The enemy’s impatience had cost them.
Tom could hear Covey on the radio talking with the Skyraider, directing them toward the new threat on the opposite side of the clearing. The calm with which the airborne assets communicated was always in stark contrast to the chaos on the ground.
“Havoc, this is Covey, marking contact with rockets for Skyraider. Move five hundred meters to the southeast. Pickup on strings.”
Quinn keyed his handset twice as he led the patrol to their new extraction point.
With Covey and the A-1s making passes at both enemy elements, Havoc was in direct comms with the Kingbees.
“Drop the ropes,” Quinn said when they could hear one of the big birds hovering just above the trees.
A sandbag attached to a thick 120-foot rope fell through the canopy and crashed to the jungle floor. It was followed by three more—all from the single right-side door. All four operators hanging from the helo’s starboard side created a weight imbalance that increased the flying challenges for the Kingbee pilot.
“See you for beers at Phu Bai,” Quinn told Tom with a smile before turning to lead his squad farther into the jungle under the second helo that hovered over the canopy about 75 meters east.
Tom lay Sau on the ground and tied a Swiss seat around his unconscious friend’s waist and legs while Tuan and Mang held security. They could hear the A-1s pounding the enemy with cluster bombs, napalm, 250-pounders, 500-pounders, and their 20mm cannons.
“Kingbee, I have one wounded. He’s strapped in,” Tom said into his handset.
“Roger, Havoc,”came the reply in heavily Vietnamese-accented English. It was a voice Tom recognized—Captain An, a pilot who had hauled Havoc out under fire on multiple occasions.
Tom had purchased many a beer for An in the Phu Bai Green Beret Lounge following missions across the fence. He prayed he would be able to do so again tonight.
Tom quickly tied his own Swiss seat and then motioned to Mang and Tuan to do the same while he held security. Tom would be the last in his squad to clip into the rope that would haul them out of the jungle.
Almost there.
He felt a bullet impact the radio on his back, followed by two more inquick succession, putting him in the dirt. It felt like he had been hit three times with a sledgehammer. He scrambled to his feet.
Mang and Tuan, though attached to the strings, returned fire with their CAR-15s.
Tom pivoted and began raking the jungle with the RPD.
He could tell that the helo was taking rounds as the NVA fired through the canopy. Even though the enemy couldn’t see the Kingbee, they could hear it.
The giant helicopter began moving, dragging the three ’Yards through the jungle.
You are going to get left behind, Tom.
The radio was awash in Vietnamese from the pilots at the same time his Montagnards were yelling at him to clip in.
Tom ran to catch up to the remaining rope as it slid through the jungle. Grabbing it with his left hand, he struggled to attach with his D-ring, his eyes darting between the black carabiner, the rope, and the jungle. An NVA soldier emerged from the trees. Tom let go of the D-ring and grasped his M79. Pushing the safety forward, he fired a flechette round directly into the neck and face of the enemy soldier—the steel darts removing his head from his body and dropping him instantly.
Tom reloaded the RPD and let loose another 125 rounds into the jungle before turning to sprint toward the rope moving farther away through the trees. Bullets whizzed past, the distinctive green NVA tracers resembling lasers on a trajectory of death.
He reached for the rope. Missed, increased his speed and tried again.
Got it.
