Read Online Nam Sense by Jr. Arthur Wiknik - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jr. Arthur Wiknik
Tags: Bisac Code 1: HIS027070
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crest, the Gooks pop out of their holes from behind us and shoot us in the back. That’s why we call it Hamburger Hill. Because anyone who goes up there gets chewed up. I’ve got friends still lying out there and we can’t even bring their bodies back.” Then he began to sob, but there were no tears. “Why can’t the Army just let it be and get us the fuck out of here?”
Eventually, one of his buddies came over to lead him away. The other GIs just looked at us with blank expressions because everyone knew the Army was not about to give it up.
We moved out again, this time cutting our own trail along a finger-like ridge. As we slowly advanced, I caught glimpses of the hill through the vegetation. It looked barren, as if no one could possibly be up there.
Suddenly, our lead element opened fire with their M-16s. We hit the dirt but the shooting lasted only seconds. Moments later, word came down that the point had killed an NVA sniper who had tied himself high in a tree. The sniper didn’t fall out. Instead, he hung grotesquely like a rag doll with a rope around his waist. As we passed by, dripping blood from the body sprinkled down like raindrops. We had no respect for the dead enemy soldier, and left him hanging as a warning to his buddies.
By the time we got into our attack location it was late afternoon, so there would be no assault that day. We set up a close defensive line of three-man positions to prevent any NVA from sneaking between us. In my position were PFC Howard Siner and PFC Lennie Person.
Lennie Person was a black inner-city kid from Ohio who hated being in Vietnam because he was convinced he was going to die. Many of us were vocal about hating Vietnam, but we kept the fear of dying a secret so no one would think less of us.
“Hey Sergeant,” Lennie asked. “Remember that GI who told you to take off your stripes and remove the tracers from our machine gun belts?”
“Sure,” I answered, “I could never forget him. He was a basket case.”
“Well, do you really think the NVA are picking out targets to shoot at? I mean, do you think they want to shoot blacks too?”
“Lennie,” I started, unsure of what to really tell him. “They’ll be shooting at all of us. But try not to worry about it. We’ve got them outnumbered and surrounded. Besides, how many can be left up there? This whole thing will be over before noon tomorrow.”
Siner looked at me as if I was crazy because he knew that I didn’t know what I was talking about. But he also knew I had to make up something to keep Lennie from becoming so scared that he would be useless.
“Lennie,” Siner said, trying to console him, “I’m almost twice your size and I can carry lots of ammo. Why don’t you stick with me tomorrow? That way we can protect each other.”
Lennie was so relieved by Siner’s offer that he shook his hand in appreciation. Siner glanced back at me as if to say, “I had to do something.” I gave him an affirmative nod because I knew he did the right thing.
We didn’t dig in because the ridge was too steep, but we were able to level the ground enough for sleeping. Hardly anyone slept. Throughout the night, distant voices and other noises were heard coming from the hill. Many of us hoped that the NVA were fleeing because of the massive allied buildup of 600 GIs, 200 ARVNs and 300 more GIs in close reserve that formed a circular barrier along the base of the hill stretched out nearly one mile long.
At daybreak, enemy small arms fire cracked over the hillside, telling us at least someone was still up there. In response, air strikes were called in which stopped the shooting. Between the bombing runs, the NVA dropped random mortar rounds near the hill base to harass us as well.
Small arms fire cracked again, but this time it was M-16’s as men from my company killed another enemy soldier. Not carrying a weapon, the lone NVA had walked directly to one of our positions, as if to surrender. When he got closer,
Eventually, one of his buddies came over to lead him away. The other GIs just looked at us with blank expressions because everyone knew the Army was not about to give it up.
We moved out again, this time cutting our own trail along a finger-like ridge. As we slowly advanced, I caught glimpses of the hill through the vegetation. It looked barren, as if no one could possibly be up there.
Suddenly, our lead element opened fire with their M-16s. We hit the dirt but the shooting lasted only seconds. Moments later, word came down that the point had killed an NVA sniper who had tied himself high in a tree. The sniper didn’t fall out. Instead, he hung grotesquely like a rag doll with a rope around his waist. As we passed by, dripping blood from the body sprinkled down like raindrops. We had no respect for the dead enemy soldier, and left him hanging as a warning to his buddies.
By the time we got into our attack location it was late afternoon, so there would be no assault that day. We set up a close defensive line of three-man positions to prevent any NVA from sneaking between us. In my position were PFC Howard Siner and PFC Lennie Person.
Lennie Person was a black inner-city kid from Ohio who hated being in Vietnam because he was convinced he was going to die. Many of us were vocal about hating Vietnam, but we kept the fear of dying a secret so no one would think less of us.
“Hey Sergeant,” Lennie asked. “Remember that GI who told you to take off your stripes and remove the tracers from our machine gun belts?”
“Sure,” I answered, “I could never forget him. He was a basket case.”
“Well, do you really think the NVA are picking out targets to shoot at? I mean, do you think they want to shoot blacks too?”
“Lennie,” I started, unsure of what to really tell him. “They’ll be shooting at all of us. But try not to worry about it. We’ve got them outnumbered and surrounded. Besides, how many can be left up there? This whole thing will be over before noon tomorrow.”
Siner looked at me as if I was crazy because he knew that I didn’t know what I was talking about. But he also knew I had to make up something to keep Lennie from becoming so scared that he would be useless.
“Lennie,” Siner said, trying to console him, “I’m almost twice your size and I can carry lots of ammo. Why don’t you stick with me tomorrow? That way we can protect each other.”
Lennie was so relieved by Siner’s offer that he shook his hand in appreciation. Siner glanced back at me as if to say, “I had to do something.” I gave him an affirmative nod because I knew he did the right thing.
We didn’t dig in because the ridge was too steep, but we were able to level the ground enough for sleeping. Hardly anyone slept. Throughout the night, distant voices and other noises were heard coming from the hill. Many of us hoped that the NVA were fleeing because of the massive allied buildup of 600 GIs, 200 ARVNs and 300 more GIs in close reserve that formed a circular barrier along the base of the hill stretched out nearly one mile long.
At daybreak, enemy small arms fire cracked over the hillside, telling us at least someone was still up there. In response, air strikes were called in which stopped the shooting. Between the bombing runs, the NVA dropped random mortar rounds near the hill base to harass us as well.
Small arms fire cracked again, but this time it was M-16’s as men from my company killed another enemy soldier. Not carrying a weapon, the lone NVA had walked directly to one of our positions, as if to surrender. When he got closer,
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