Gimpy_Fac
02-26-2014, 07:03 AM
“You can kill ten of my men for every one I kill of yours. But even at those odds, you will lose and I will win!” Ho Chi Minh, to the French colonials, 1950s.
1967, and the same people who defeated the French at the Battle of Dien Bien Phu were directing the war against us, and still sticking with their principle of mass attack. From 67 on, even when the rains turned the ground into a red gluttonous morass, the attack pressure kept on building up until the Marines referred to themselves as, “Walking Dead”.
There was a psychological advantage to be had when riding around on our Mike boat over crawling around in the jungle with the South Vietnamese grunts, in that we had a sense of security due to the ready made steel cover it provided. However, either out on the water, or when taking to the jungle, Charlie always did his absolute utmost to kill us, and we the same thing to him.
The Plain of Reeds was an area which fell within our operations zone. It could be reached via a river, and then canals. The Plain itself was designated as prime “Indian Country” so the South Vietnamese Special Forces, the Lien Doc Nguoi Nhia, had full operational control over it.
The Special Forces, both ours and South Vietnamese, made use of many strange, even at times weird people. One of which being an ancient and squat little guy whom they operationally coded with the nickname of Bigfoot. There was absolutely no derision in the choice of nicknames, although it was regarded by some as overly melodramatic and hinting somewhat of a nickel and dime spy novel. Bigfoot knew of his code name, and when we explained to him that it was also the name given to a legendary great beast of the forest he personally revelled in its significance.
Bigfoot had become a legend himself when operating during WW2, running a bunch of Chinese cutthroats supporting Allied Special Forces operating against the Japanese, now his new band of young Chinese Mercenaries would be helping us again. But do not get this wrong, for he did not help out of any love for democracy, or for that matter the United States. Absolutely no way, for as in WW2 it was simply for money, lots and lots of it, preferably paid in gold coin regardless of its currency.
In the Plain of Reeds area was a highly dangerous VC leader who regarded himself as a kind of “cleansing” figure to the people, rooting out those without complete loyalty to the communist cause. Being disgustingly ruthless in this endeavour he guaranteed himself a safe, spy protected, working base. He commanded in the region of fifty VC, all well armed and dedicated, and was hated by the local population. Incredibly, they operated quite openly and were high on our agency wanted list. They would attack and kill any military or police they came across. Torture, rape and kill civilians, at times in the most abhorrent of ways, then dash back to their den in the Plain of Reeds. This group just had to go!
Their leader was born a local to the Plain of Reeds and had one weakness which was women, and that really pissed-off his wife. On hearing of this, the LDNN decided that the wife should become an ally by befriended her. To achieve this they called on the services of Bigfoot, and who on their behalf plied her with gifts, cash, and a handsome young bodyguard, come a lover.
The designated bodyguard was a trusted aide to Bigfoot and a vicious, nasty, arrogant piece of crap but extremely loyal. Through this arrangement it was not long before the LDNN knew exactly the location of the VC’s bolt hole, defences and layout. It was obvious from the info that an attack on the bolt hole would be tactically impractical within the reed beds of the plain, so a plan developed to try and force him and his VC out of it, and into the jungle. There to receive a sneaky ambush, hopefully resulting in total annihilation.
Bigfoot arranged that the VC leader’s wife would send her young lover to advise when her husband would be returning to his bolt hole after a “Cleansing” excursion. Bigfoot and the LDNN would throw a rough cordon around the area of the bolt hole, with a weak gateway towards the jungle, and a known track used by the VC. Approximately one klick down that track, the LDNN ambush would be waiting, made up in the shape of my boat’s crew and a squad of South Vietnamese Marines.
True to her word the wife duly sent her lover as promised, probably glad to be rid of her husband for keeps. The LDNN, Big-Foot and his mercenaries, piled aboard a large civilian river junk and set the plan in motion. There was no turning back, for there was but one chance to clear out the rat’s nest in the reeds, and that was it!
A runner had been sent to our positions in the jungle. This guy’s English was as piss- poor as was our Vietnamese, but we still got the drift of the message using a pot purée of Vietnamese, English and French. Obviously the SV Marines understood him straight off, and couldn’t stop laughing at the runner’s frustration over our antics when trying to.
The rain had stopped, it had been thundering down for hours in a warm, continuous, unrelenting flood, then just suddenly ceased, as if someone had turned off a baths faucet. My crew headed over to a mass of palms, and spent a few minutes going over ambush procedures before allowing another five to prepare their gear. Everything had to be checked again and again. The SV Marine leader and I moved off a short distance to prepare a plan.
We took our time, and thought it through; for we had everything needed to make it, weapons, grenades, flares, and information on other red forces from hot tips supplied by the LDNN. We tried to think like the enemy, from their point of view. We did not discuss it with the others as that would have downgraded our command appointments. It would also have been considered a sign of indecision. Then all was ready.
After waiting around for what seemed an eternity the forward stop armed with an M60 light machine gun, and located near the true jungle edge, spotted movement on the track and pulled the communications cord attached to my left boot. We only had a small force made up of my guys and the South Vietnamese Marines, who had insisted on having a flamethrower along. A weapon which was obviously close to my Zippo’s crews hearts and not unusual to have, if they didn’t go about clicking the fu*king thing for “flame-on” before the ambush door was slammed shut!
My boat crew had to close the door and prevent any escape attempt with our stops. The SV Marines would do the main business of the ambush and toast, or blast, the VC. Then through the deep gloom beneath the jungle canopy we spotted our targets, moving quietly but at speed in a half run. We had to be damn quick to catch them all in the net for sure.
As the last of the VC passed our forward stop he pressed a clicker wired to a claymore mine. A sharp crack, then a flash, as the claymore exploded. In doing so the running VC was shredded to pulp, and at the same time it shut the door of the ambush. Our stop then ripped into the now disorientated VC with his M60, and their fate was guaranteed sealed! They had literally nowhere to go. Some managed to get a few AK rounds off in retaliation, and tried to run up the track but were repulsed by fire from another M60 manned by the rear stop, and a storm of M16 rifle rounds. The air was filled with the zing and buzz of automatic weapons rounds, and screams from the wounded and dying.
The SV Marines Leader shouted “Dừng! Dừng lại! Xem và chờ đợi!” Stop! Stop it! Watch and wait! With eyes streaming and stinging from the gun-smoke everyone ceased firing. Lying motionless in the soft jungle moss, and on the track, was the VC force. Suddenly one figure sprang to life, and took off at a tremendous pace, fear lending wings to his heels. Crack! Crack! Went a dozen or so rifles, but the fleeing figure kept on running, for being half blinded by the battle smoke everyone had missed! My only thought at the time was, another fu*king screw-up! Then the figure ran straight into a grenade "Necklace", and was quickly and viciously cut down. His head had instantly disappeared in a bloody shower. The SV Marines had prudently stretched the necklace between two palms trunks as a precaution against such an event.
To my surprise, as the VC force had been decimated, the gloom was suddenly lit up by the flamethrower in an effective and terrifying display. The SV Marines then lobed hand grenades into the burning mix of humanity and foliage, and poured in small arms rounds, just to make sure!
Inevitably the jungle caught alight, and flared at a tremendous speed, everyone had to run for it, plunging into the canal to escape the flames! After swimming across the canal we had a three klick walk back to where we had left our Mike boat,camouflaged by bundles of reeds tied to her. Our one casualty amongst the crew was an NFG with grenade splinters in his face and an eye. He was in great pain, but to his credit he suffered with magnificent fortitude, and never cried out. The eye looked fu*ked and well beyond repair.
The fire eventually burned itself out two days later, but not before destroying acres of jungle. Once everything had cooled down we were ordered back to the ambush site to search for evidence. Apart from some charred human remains, and fire twisted weapons, nothing else was ever found. Anyway, as always, the jungle quickly grew back and covered the scars of our little side action, as if it had never happened. If left alone, and to its own devises, then in all cases nature will eventually eradicate any trace of humanity’s follies.
We never did find out if any of the VC had escaped, but I seriously doubt if they had. All VC activity dropped off dramatically in that operations area whist we were there, but did eventually return with a vengeance when NVA Regulars started pouring in as the North’s General Giap prepared for his Tet offensive.
Of the Wife who helped the LDNN via Bigfoot so effectively, she moved into a large villa in Saigon with her lover, courtesy of a grateful agency. In 69 she was found floating and bloated in a Saigon cesspool, having been beaten then strangled to death by a piano wire garrote.
I never did meet, nor see Bigfoot again, but I have always liked to believe he prowls jungle tracks somewhere, making his money from the peddlers of liberty, freedom and democracy.
Regretfully, our NFG casualty died from wound complications in the Naval Hospital, Yokosuka. At least he had boarded the Freedom Bird back to the world whilst still alive.
1967, and the same people who defeated the French at the Battle of Dien Bien Phu were directing the war against us, and still sticking with their principle of mass attack. From 67 on, even when the rains turned the ground into a red gluttonous morass, the attack pressure kept on building up until the Marines referred to themselves as, “Walking Dead”.
There was a psychological advantage to be had when riding around on our Mike boat over crawling around in the jungle with the South Vietnamese grunts, in that we had a sense of security due to the ready made steel cover it provided. However, either out on the water, or when taking to the jungle, Charlie always did his absolute utmost to kill us, and we the same thing to him.
The Plain of Reeds was an area which fell within our operations zone. It could be reached via a river, and then canals. The Plain itself was designated as prime “Indian Country” so the South Vietnamese Special Forces, the Lien Doc Nguoi Nhia, had full operational control over it.
The Special Forces, both ours and South Vietnamese, made use of many strange, even at times weird people. One of which being an ancient and squat little guy whom they operationally coded with the nickname of Bigfoot. There was absolutely no derision in the choice of nicknames, although it was regarded by some as overly melodramatic and hinting somewhat of a nickel and dime spy novel. Bigfoot knew of his code name, and when we explained to him that it was also the name given to a legendary great beast of the forest he personally revelled in its significance.
Bigfoot had become a legend himself when operating during WW2, running a bunch of Chinese cutthroats supporting Allied Special Forces operating against the Japanese, now his new band of young Chinese Mercenaries would be helping us again. But do not get this wrong, for he did not help out of any love for democracy, or for that matter the United States. Absolutely no way, for as in WW2 it was simply for money, lots and lots of it, preferably paid in gold coin regardless of its currency.
In the Plain of Reeds area was a highly dangerous VC leader who regarded himself as a kind of “cleansing” figure to the people, rooting out those without complete loyalty to the communist cause. Being disgustingly ruthless in this endeavour he guaranteed himself a safe, spy protected, working base. He commanded in the region of fifty VC, all well armed and dedicated, and was hated by the local population. Incredibly, they operated quite openly and were high on our agency wanted list. They would attack and kill any military or police they came across. Torture, rape and kill civilians, at times in the most abhorrent of ways, then dash back to their den in the Plain of Reeds. This group just had to go!
Their leader was born a local to the Plain of Reeds and had one weakness which was women, and that really pissed-off his wife. On hearing of this, the LDNN decided that the wife should become an ally by befriended her. To achieve this they called on the services of Bigfoot, and who on their behalf plied her with gifts, cash, and a handsome young bodyguard, come a lover.
The designated bodyguard was a trusted aide to Bigfoot and a vicious, nasty, arrogant piece of crap but extremely loyal. Through this arrangement it was not long before the LDNN knew exactly the location of the VC’s bolt hole, defences and layout. It was obvious from the info that an attack on the bolt hole would be tactically impractical within the reed beds of the plain, so a plan developed to try and force him and his VC out of it, and into the jungle. There to receive a sneaky ambush, hopefully resulting in total annihilation.
Bigfoot arranged that the VC leader’s wife would send her young lover to advise when her husband would be returning to his bolt hole after a “Cleansing” excursion. Bigfoot and the LDNN would throw a rough cordon around the area of the bolt hole, with a weak gateway towards the jungle, and a known track used by the VC. Approximately one klick down that track, the LDNN ambush would be waiting, made up in the shape of my boat’s crew and a squad of South Vietnamese Marines.
True to her word the wife duly sent her lover as promised, probably glad to be rid of her husband for keeps. The LDNN, Big-Foot and his mercenaries, piled aboard a large civilian river junk and set the plan in motion. There was no turning back, for there was but one chance to clear out the rat’s nest in the reeds, and that was it!
A runner had been sent to our positions in the jungle. This guy’s English was as piss- poor as was our Vietnamese, but we still got the drift of the message using a pot purée of Vietnamese, English and French. Obviously the SV Marines understood him straight off, and couldn’t stop laughing at the runner’s frustration over our antics when trying to.
The rain had stopped, it had been thundering down for hours in a warm, continuous, unrelenting flood, then just suddenly ceased, as if someone had turned off a baths faucet. My crew headed over to a mass of palms, and spent a few minutes going over ambush procedures before allowing another five to prepare their gear. Everything had to be checked again and again. The SV Marine leader and I moved off a short distance to prepare a plan.
We took our time, and thought it through; for we had everything needed to make it, weapons, grenades, flares, and information on other red forces from hot tips supplied by the LDNN. We tried to think like the enemy, from their point of view. We did not discuss it with the others as that would have downgraded our command appointments. It would also have been considered a sign of indecision. Then all was ready.
After waiting around for what seemed an eternity the forward stop armed with an M60 light machine gun, and located near the true jungle edge, spotted movement on the track and pulled the communications cord attached to my left boot. We only had a small force made up of my guys and the South Vietnamese Marines, who had insisted on having a flamethrower along. A weapon which was obviously close to my Zippo’s crews hearts and not unusual to have, if they didn’t go about clicking the fu*king thing for “flame-on” before the ambush door was slammed shut!
My boat crew had to close the door and prevent any escape attempt with our stops. The SV Marines would do the main business of the ambush and toast, or blast, the VC. Then through the deep gloom beneath the jungle canopy we spotted our targets, moving quietly but at speed in a half run. We had to be damn quick to catch them all in the net for sure.
As the last of the VC passed our forward stop he pressed a clicker wired to a claymore mine. A sharp crack, then a flash, as the claymore exploded. In doing so the running VC was shredded to pulp, and at the same time it shut the door of the ambush. Our stop then ripped into the now disorientated VC with his M60, and their fate was guaranteed sealed! They had literally nowhere to go. Some managed to get a few AK rounds off in retaliation, and tried to run up the track but were repulsed by fire from another M60 manned by the rear stop, and a storm of M16 rifle rounds. The air was filled with the zing and buzz of automatic weapons rounds, and screams from the wounded and dying.
The SV Marines Leader shouted “Dừng! Dừng lại! Xem và chờ đợi!” Stop! Stop it! Watch and wait! With eyes streaming and stinging from the gun-smoke everyone ceased firing. Lying motionless in the soft jungle moss, and on the track, was the VC force. Suddenly one figure sprang to life, and took off at a tremendous pace, fear lending wings to his heels. Crack! Crack! Went a dozen or so rifles, but the fleeing figure kept on running, for being half blinded by the battle smoke everyone had missed! My only thought at the time was, another fu*king screw-up! Then the figure ran straight into a grenade "Necklace", and was quickly and viciously cut down. His head had instantly disappeared in a bloody shower. The SV Marines had prudently stretched the necklace between two palms trunks as a precaution against such an event.
To my surprise, as the VC force had been decimated, the gloom was suddenly lit up by the flamethrower in an effective and terrifying display. The SV Marines then lobed hand grenades into the burning mix of humanity and foliage, and poured in small arms rounds, just to make sure!
Inevitably the jungle caught alight, and flared at a tremendous speed, everyone had to run for it, plunging into the canal to escape the flames! After swimming across the canal we had a three klick walk back to where we had left our Mike boat,camouflaged by bundles of reeds tied to her. Our one casualty amongst the crew was an NFG with grenade splinters in his face and an eye. He was in great pain, but to his credit he suffered with magnificent fortitude, and never cried out. The eye looked fu*ked and well beyond repair.
The fire eventually burned itself out two days later, but not before destroying acres of jungle. Once everything had cooled down we were ordered back to the ambush site to search for evidence. Apart from some charred human remains, and fire twisted weapons, nothing else was ever found. Anyway, as always, the jungle quickly grew back and covered the scars of our little side action, as if it had never happened. If left alone, and to its own devises, then in all cases nature will eventually eradicate any trace of humanity’s follies.
We never did find out if any of the VC had escaped, but I seriously doubt if they had. All VC activity dropped off dramatically in that operations area whist we were there, but did eventually return with a vengeance when NVA Regulars started pouring in as the North’s General Giap prepared for his Tet offensive.
Of the Wife who helped the LDNN via Bigfoot so effectively, she moved into a large villa in Saigon with her lover, courtesy of a grateful agency. In 69 she was found floating and bloated in a Saigon cesspool, having been beaten then strangled to death by a piano wire garrote.
I never did meet, nor see Bigfoot again, but I have always liked to believe he prowls jungle tracks somewhere, making his money from the peddlers of liberty, freedom and democracy.
Regretfully, our NFG casualty died from wound complications in the Naval Hospital, Yokosuka. At least he had boarded the Freedom Bird back to the world whilst still alive.