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Continued from  Walking Naked

If I Should Die Before I Wake...

"First ask yourself: What is the worst that can happen? Then prepare to accept it. Then proceed to improve on the worst."

-- Dale Carnegie

Hill 891 (YC017919) Laos, November 9, 1967... approximately 1900 hours / November 9, 1967... 1100 hours Zulu

Hatchet Force "Bull Dog" has not brought entrenching tools, food, or extra water, but we are preparing for a night defense of Hill 891. It is difficult to dig in the clay soil with our hands but that's about all we have. We only have two machine guns, one claymore mine (thanks to Rick Bayer, the Demolitions Sergeant), and we have no mortars. This is not the Boy Scouts and we are not prepared. I should have known better.

We occupy the crown of the hill. To our south the hill is relatively steep and open. This is the area of the hill where the helicopters tried to pick up "Flat Foot". I marvel that they didn't have rotor strikes against the hillside during their night landings. It would be really tricky in the daytime, but a night landing here, under heavy fire, is a feat of exceptional airmanship.

A hundred meters down-slope the tree line begins and covers the rest of the steep down slope. Off to the southwest, is the tree line that conceals the Jolly Green-26 crash site. Although these tree lines are now dark and foreboding, they are not the greatest threat.

To our east and west, the slopes are gentler and trees extend almost to our perimeter. These are the most likely avenues of enemy approach. We place the machine guns there and concentrate more of the force on the east and west ends of the perimeter.

To the north is the slippery cliff-like slope that MSG. Fisher and his group climbed earlier today. It is here that we set up the CP (Command Post). I have respect for the NVA and know that they often use the most difficult, hence the least guarded, approach to their objective. We are vastly out numbered here and time is on the enemy's side. I want to be sure this approach is constantly guarded, so Lloyd and I will do it ourselves. Our position also offers protection from direct fire from the other approaches, thus protecting the all-important radio.

Nights in the mountains of Laos get cold. Lloyd's poncho and liner were wrapped around "Ozzie" when he was med-evaced earlier. So we share mine. We're lucky to have something to keep the dew off us and to give us a little warmth. Since we believe we will be exfiltrated in the morning, I open the can of C-Ration Peaches and share them with Lloyd.

Hill 891 (YC017919) Laos, November 9, 1967... approximately 2030 hours / November 9, 1967... 1230 hours Zulu

"Bull Dog, Bull Dog, this is Blind Bat Zero Three, over."

After several hours of silence on the radio, this unexpected call startles me.

"Bull Dog, Bull Dog, this is Blind Bat Zero Three, over."

I respond, "Blind Bat Zero Three, this is Bull Dog, over."

"Bull Dog, Bat Three is inbound to your location to turn on the lights, over."

"Ahh…roger that. Say again your intention, over."

"Bull Dog, Bat Three is a flare ship. Just say the word and we will turn your night into day. It'll be so bright down there you will be able to read the fine print on your Divorce Papers, over."

We can now hear the drone of the approaching C-130. Within a few minutes, we are adjusting Blind Bat-03's flare patterns and as advertised, it is as bright as day around our perimeter.

The flares come every few minutes in strings of three. We can hear the pop when the detonators ignite the flares and they sizzle and smoke like Forth of July sparklers as they float down under their small parachutes. They are Magnesium Flares and burn with a white-hot intensity that takes away the night. They swing back and forth as they come down, giving the illusion that the trees and the grass are living, animated beings. The shadows jump back and forth and the landscape becomes surreal in the constantly moving bright lights. The woods are full of ghosts.

But the light is comforting and serves to keep the enemy from massing too close to our perimeter. Blind Bat-03 has taken away the night.

Even more comforting is the voice on the radio. We are fully expecting an enemy attack and we believe we are in danger of being overrun. The voice high in the darkness keeps us talking. Lloyd and I take turns on the radio.

I can only speak for myself, but I suspect many of us on that mountainside in Laos had the same thought process regarding the hours to come. I have moved rapidly through the five stages of grief and am ready to fight and die if necessary.

Denial... this can't be happening. We were supposed to have been out of here hours ago.

Anger... this thing is so screwed up. If I survive this I am going back to camp and kick some serious ass, because I'm definitely too young to die!

Bargaining... this is bizarre, I remember specifically saying to myself that if I survive, I'm going home and I'll wash the dishes every night... I lied.

Regret... I think of all the opportunities I've blown and all the girls in my life who I foolishly let slip away. Each of them was wonderful and unique and deserved better treatment than they got from me. I have fond thoughts and profound regrets about all of them. But mostly, I regret that I probably will never see my family and my fiancée (not yet official…she hasn't said yes and I haven't given her a ring), whom I love more than I have ever been able to communicate.

Acceptance... I will probably die in this unnamed spot on the side of a hill in Laos; but by God, the people who kill me are going to know I was here and they will pay a heavy price for taking me out.

This is not false bravado; it's just the way it is. The whole process takes only a few minutes. Once death is accepted as not just possible, but inevitable; fear of death is banished and a sense of peace sets in that makes us very lethal and dangerous. I become much too busy to dwell on my personal thoughts and problems. There is work to be done. It will be wet and dark and dirty. We are SOG…this is what we do.

Blind Bat-03 continues to talk to us and to take away our darkness. At one point, the voice in the sky asks if we are a big force or a small force? For a moment, I'm at a loss for the answer. For a SOG operation, we are extremely large, but surrounded by thousands of NVA, we feel much too small. If the NVA are listening, and they most assuredly are, I don't want them to think that overrunning us will be easy.

I answer, "We're a large force."

The Bat responds, "That's good because it looks like a Boy Scout Jamboree down there. You guys are surrounded by hundreds of camp fires."

I answer the Bat, "If this turns out badly, will you get word to my unit that I want my parents and my girl to know that my last thoughts were of them?"

The Bat promises that he will do it if necessary.

To our east-southeast we see a steady stream of lights. Judging from the movement and brightness of the lights, we think they are trucks. A footpath shows on our map at about 4000 meters in that direction. The Bat doesn't see them, but calls for some A-1's using the call sign "Pedro". "Pedro" doesn't see them either and can't safely come down into the valley to see them from our perspective because of the terrain, so the NVA get a pass and will live to die elsewhere some day.

The NVA are very proficient with their road building and camouflage. They use trellises to train and secure the second and third canopies of foliage over their roads and trails making the paths invisible from the air. It is obvious to us that they have expanded the footpath into a roadway and cleverly camouflaged it from aerial observation. The lights continue to move even with the aircraft overhead and the flares to their west. After counting several hundred lights we lose interest. The lights continue all night long.

After several hours, Lloyd and I agree that maybe we should turn out the lights. Although we are surprised that we have not been attacked yet, we want to be sure that if an attack occurs, there will be enough flares to light the battlefield.

Lloyd passes that decision to the Bat and the Bat responds, "We were going to suggest that. We're going to go west a little bit to check something out, but if you need us we'll only be a few minutes away."

The drone of the C-130 fades off to the west and we are alone in the dark. Our night vision begins to return. All remains quiet.

A short while later the Bat is back and informs us that there are heavy anti-aircraft guns to the southwest being moved in our direction. The area was a little hot for them so they will orbit in our area until their replacement flare ship arrives.

Hill 891 (YC017919) Laos, November 10, 1967... approximately 0100 hours / November 9, 1967... 1900 hours Zulu

"Bull Dog, Bat Zero Three, over."

"This is Bull Dog, go ahead."

"Bat Three, we're about ready to RTB (Return to Base). Lamplighter will take over from us. We have briefed him and he should be on station in a few minutes. Good luck, Bull Dog…you may need it. And don't worry, I'll check back and if I need to relay your message, I will. Blind Bat, out."

"Lamplighter" was the call sign of another group of Air Force C-130 flare ships. "Blind Bat" and "Lamplighter" were from the same unit at Ubon Royal Thai Air Base (RTAB). All the flare ships were assigned to the 374th Tactical Airlift Wing at Naha Air Base, Okinawa. They were TDY for 180 days under the control of the 8th Tactical Fighter Wing at Ubon RTAB, Thailand. Each crew would fly 14 to 16 missions a month (they were limited to120 flying hours a month). 5 missions a night were flown, three Blind Bat and two Lamplighters. Usually Blind Bat was over southern Laos and Lamplighter was over northern Laos and North Vietnam. Most nights they flew hunter-killer missions on the trail looking for anything that moved and anti-aircraft gun positions.

"Alley Cat" and "Moonbeam", the Airborne Battle Command and Control Center (ABCCC) C-130s, would on occasion direct them to other targets/areas where their assistance was needed for rescues or to support what they called "road teams" --- Special Forces on the ground.

"Bull Dog, Bull Dog, this is Lamplighter, Lamplighter, over."

"Lamplighter, Bull Dog, go ahead."

"Bull Dog, we're in the area and we want to kick out a flare for you to adjust, over."

"Roger, Lamplighter. Go ahead."

We don't hear a plane and we don't see a flare. We report this to Lamplighter.

"Roger, Bull Dog. We'll drop another flare."

Nothing.

This goes on for about fifteen minutes and Lamplighter is getting more and more agitated. We light up a strobe light, but Lamplighter sees nothing. Finally I ask Lamplighter, "Lamplighter, Bull Dog. Do you see a lot of campfires?"

The answer is negative.

Lamplighter widens his orbit and eventually we hear the drone of his engines and vector him into our general area. He had been looking for us many miles away. Lloyd requests that he hold his flares. If we are hit with a ground attack, Lamplighter will know by the tracers. If he sees tracers, turn on the lights.

The calming rapport that we had with Blind Bat is gone. The radio remains silent except for a call from "Alley Cat", requesting a SitRep (Situation Report) and “Iron Spud”, an Army Mohawk Surveillance Aircraft from the 131st Aviation Company in Phu Bai. "Alley Cat", "Moon Beam", and "Iron Spud" would always check on teams in the field at night. It was comforting to know that someone would eventually establish contact during the lonely dark nights in Laos.

We had devised a squelch code for times when the enemy was near-by and it would be too dangerous to even whisper. The aircraft checking on us would ask specific questions and we would respond by pressing the talk switch on our radio a specified number of times depending on what the answer was.

I tell both aircraft that our situation is static. Although we are surrounded, we have not been attacked.

Hill 891 (YC017919) Laos, November 10, 1967... approximately 0430 hours / November 9, 1967... 2030 hours Zulu

And then, the one thing that we thought would not happen does. It is imperceptible at first. The sky in the east begins to lighten. It is a dangerous time on the battlefield. Defender's senses are dulled and alertness wanes. The enemy frequently attacks during the hours just before dawn. The American team members bring the perimeter to full alert, preparing for an assault that never comes. We have made it through the night. Now all we have to do is finish the mission by finding and processing the Jolly Green 26 crash site and then be picked up and flown back to Phu Bai for the traditional breakfast of steak and eggs that the Mess Sergeant always prepares for returning teams.

A delicious thought that obviously is not going to pan out. As the sky in the east becomes lighter, we see the huge banks of clouds. Helicopters will be unable to reach us today. We are at the mercy of the enemy and the elements. It is time to worry about the things we can control, not the things we can't.

Breakfast isn't an issue. We have no food. Most of us haven't eaten since dinner two nights ago. Our water supply is low, but we don't believe thirst will become a problem. In a few hours we will probably have more water than we need. The clouds are blowing toward us. There is already a high overcast above us.

The "Brain Trust" makes a plan. We will split the force. One group, with some of the Senior NCO's and Lt. Hoepner, will find the Jolly Green crash site. I will keep a force to secure the top of the hill and act as reinforcement if the troops at the crash site run into trouble.

Hill 891 (YC017919) Laos, November 10, 1967... approximately 0600 hours / November 9, 1967... 2200 hours Zulu

It's time to go to work.

The story continues on  A Day Like No Other...

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