THERE BE DRAGONS (4 page)

“Farther north sits the old capital Hue, very close to the DMZ, less than a hundred klicks, in fact. Inland is covered with jungle and jungle-covered hills. The Central Highlands stand more than two thousand meters high and stretch up along the border with Cambodia and Laos. Laos and Cambodia are also off-limits to military operations.

“The trouble is the Vietcong, or the Vietnamese Communist Irregulars, and the NVA, North Vietnamese Army, use the Ho Chi Minh Trail, which snakes back and forth between the borders with Laos and Cambodia. The North Vietnamese can choose from over 1,500 kilometers of border to cross into the south.”

“Is it just me,” Lynch whispered to Jacobs, “or does it feel like the odds ain’t in our favor?”

“The South Vietnamese,” said the lieutenant colonel, “are trying to win over the local population, so each village tends to have an agent there. They could be a teacher or some such shit, but it only works when there is no commie intimidation.

“Your job will be a cleansing operation and will involve patrolling the surrounding area to find the enemy for elimination. Just because the 1st Air Cavalry Division is a helicopter-based force, doesn’t mean you’ll be flying around all the time just shooting down at the enemy. Most of your time will be spent hiking. Trying to find them is half the battle. The patrols you will be commanding are vital to us winning this war, gentlemen.”

“Lynch?” whispered Jacobs.

“Yeah?”

“I can’t help being scared by the prospect of commanding thirty or so men. It isn’t going to be easy being the new guy. Heck, it isn’t easy with years of experience. A firefight always throws up some unexpected problem at you. Not just one small cup of water in your face at a time either. If it happens, it’s buckets full. I’ve got to keep control of my men, the situation, and everything seen and unseen.” Jacobs looked back to check if his conversation of whispers had gone unnoticed. It had. “I have a family name to honor,” he continued, “and God forbid losing any men because of my misjudgment. I just hope my platoon sergeant takes a liking to me. That would make it a lot easier. I’ve been told countless times in training how important the relationship is between a platoon sergeant and his LT.”

“So, you’re concerned about commanding thirty men?” asked Lynch.

“Yeah.”

“A platoon?”

“Yeah.”

“You do know you signed up to join the army, to become a lieutenant? This ain’t the circus, you know.”

Jacobs rolled his eyes.

“This is an AK-47,” said the lieutenant colonel as he held up the rifle. “A simple weapon that is easy to clean and maintain. It has become almost legendary for its ruggedness and reliability. Because of its gas piston and the generous clearances between moving parts, the tapered cartridge design allows the gun to endure large amounts of foreign matter and fouling without failing to cycle, a very useful trait in the Vietnam terrain. However, the reliability comes at a cost of accuracy, much welcomed, I might add. The looser tolerances do not allow precision and consistency that are required of the more accurate firearms.”

The lieutenant colonel placed the AK-47 back on the table and moved to a weapon on the floor. He pointed down at it as he spoke. “The .50-caliber machine gun sits on wheels. It is capable of cutting a man to shreds. How they manage to carry this thing around the Highlands is beyond me. Make no mistake; this enemy is not to be underestimated. They are determined and ain’t afraid to fight dirty. Their use of booby traps is unparalleled.”

The lieutenant colonel continued through all the weapons.

Jacobs whispered to Lynch again, “I’m trying to make sure the info being imparted sinks within any recess of my brain that isn’t already overloaded with information. I’m making mental notes of anything that might prove useful in gaining any form of advantage. But all that keeps popping into my head is that sergeant telling me about the flying demons.”

“The flying demons?” asked Lynch. “Sounds like a trapeze act … Maybe this is the circus.”

They both smiled.

“Remember,” said the lieutenant colonel, “when you’re in the field, if the shit has hit the fan—and it will—you have friends you can call. Their range, four hundred square kilometers. Call in a shower of the 105mm caliber artillery fire and watch the NVA crumble.” He smirked.

• • • • •

Jacobs went to the commissary to gather his kit.

He was handed his helmet, poncho, boots, and the rest of its nonlethal components. He also picked up a combat knife, a Colt .45 Cavalry pistol, and an M-16.

“Now,” said the officer who was doing the handing out, “you’ve probably heard stories that the M-16 rifle had a plagued start to the conflict cuz of jamming and malfunction.” The officer sighed. “That is true,” he continued. “A whole bunch of troops were killed by enemy fire cuz of it. Since then it has been upgraded with a chrome-lined bore and chamber to eliminate corrosion and stuck cartridges. The rifle’s bore and recoil mechanism has been redesigned to accommodate army issue 5.56mm ammunition. Rifle cleaning tools and powder solvents or lubricants are now issued. As long as you look after your rifle, it will look after you.”

“Got it,” said Jacobs.

“Don’t load your pack with anything but essential equipment. It’s hard enough with essentials on patrol; it would be stupid to hump around more. It could even be fatal.”

“Thanks for the advice,” said Jacobs, and he left the commissary.

• • • • •

Lynch and the blaze of the sun met him. Lynch was wearing all his new gear.

“I’m glad I found you,” Lynch said. “My orders have come in. The chopper is waiting for me. I fly out to my platoon. Now!”

“Wow, so this is it. Good-bye?” asked Jacobs.

“Not good-bye, remember? A … see you soon. Which I will do.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Good luck.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Jacobs. It’s all down to my skill.” He smiled. His big front teeth filled his face.

They shook hands and Lynch ran away to board the chopper, his ride into the war.

• • • • •

The next night Jacobs was on perimeter defense.

He was sat in a chest-deep bunker looking into the dark night through the slit window. Inside with him, another soldier was asleep, his helmet pulled down over his eyes.

There was a bunker every forty-five or so yards, within shouting distance from each other. They had corrugated roofs, with sandbags on top of that, and more sandbags supporting the sides of them

Jacobs’s looked over his shoulder at the rear exit then back out the slit. “Man, I’m tense,” he whispered to himself. “I need to crick my neck. I shouldn’t though. I need to keep the noise to a level below that of minimal. Not that the enemy has much chance of hearing a neck crick, but I need the security of knowing I’m as silent as possible.” He had to smile at that. “They probably have more chance of hearing me talk to myself. I sound like a crazy person. I should be in a padded cell, Lynch. Straightjacket and all.”

“Hey,” a voice nearby drifted to Jacobs on the night air. It came from the other soldier in the bunker.

Jacobs turned to him but the man still had his head down, his eyes covered by his helmet. “You talking to me?” asked Jacobs.

“Yeah.” His reply was monotone, dead of depth and texture. “Have you made a note of your escape from the bunker?”

“What?”

“You keep looking over your shoulder towards the exit. You’re planning what to do if we’re attacked and overrun.”

“I guess I am … well spotted,” said Jacobs.

“Before the slopes get into our lines, they’ve gotta make it past barbed wire, mines, tripwires, flares, and oil drums filled with Fugas, a more than deadly mixture of diesel and napalm that is ignited electronically. I guess I’m trying to relax you somewhat with this list of information.”

“Thanks.” Jacobs blinked. It pained him. “I haven’t slept more than two hours a night since arriving here. My eyelids feel like they have sledgehammers chained to them. So, what I’m saying is, I don’t mind talking to you, soldier. It will help me stay awake, but let’s keep the conversation to a low hum.”

The soldier sniffed snot down his throat. “I’m Bane and I have only fifty-five days until I get to go home.” His voice still lacked emotion, no warmth, no attitude; it was just a flat-lined expression of sameness.

Jacobs eased his finger. He noticed it was too tight on his weapon’s trigger. His knuckle was going white. He needed to relax. He tried to loosen up with a slight shake of his head. Then he gave the crick his neck deserved. “Well, Bane,” Jacobs coughed slightly. His mouth was dry. “Its nice to meet you. It sounds like you’ll be enjoying a cold beer back on American soil sometime soon. You got anything of interest waiting for you back home?”

“No.”

Jacobs coughed once more, an itch forming somewhere inside.

“You don’t need to fill the awkward silences with noise … like a cough. I’m used to making people uneasy. It must be something about my way.”

“No, not at all,” lied Jacobs.

“You’re not a good liar, sir.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Do you have a girl, LT?”

“I do. Just that question reminds me how much I miss her. She’s called Samantha,” said Jacobs.

“Got a picture?” Bane held out his right hand, eyes still down, his helmet still his face’s veil.

Jacobs saw that Bane’s waiting hand, so he removed his helmet and took a picture of Samantha out from inside it. He handed it to Bane then fixed his helmet back in place on his head and stared back out the slit at the shadowy jungle.

Bane moved the picture under his helmet and had a quick glance before he handed it back to Jacobs, who placed it in a pocket.

“She’s very pretty. But then again, I’ve gotta say that, don’t I?”

“Why? Because I’m a lieutenant?” asked Jacobs.

“No. It would be rude not to. It’s a given response to seeing a picture of a guy’s girl. It’s kinda a rule out here.”

Jacobs smiled. “It’s a good rule. It must stop heaps of fights.”

“It does.”

“Over the last few days I’ve taken time to walk around the base,” started Jacobs. “During my walks, I’ve seen the ARVNs, the South Vietnamese, and the stream of officers being flown in and out. I’ve made the effort to ask them questions about what it’s like in the field … but I’ve given up now. I’ve grown tired of men telling me that I was sure to die out there.” He nodded at the jungle. “My confidence is in a constant state of flux. It’s become a snowy mountain range of highs and lows, with daily avalanches and the occasionally thaw. So, with the hope of getting a more informative response, let me ask you, what is it like in the field?”

“You know, sometimes the enemy just walks or runs into the perimeter defenses without their weapons.”

“What?” Jacobs was shocked.

“Yeah. I’ve seen it. So have many of the other guys. They walk like they don’t have a care in the world, or run like rabid dogs.”

“What do they do that for, to test our defenses? To get us to use up our ammo before their proper attack, suicidal recon squad?” asked Jacobs.

“I don’t know. But they do it. You’ve gotta remember, this is an enemy that sends their Sappers, loaded up with composition B high explosives, into our lines, to run into the CP to blow themselves up.

“How do you beat an enemy that’s willing to do that? How do you fight people who are willing to go on suicide missions? And I don’t mean that figuratively, like maybe we won’t come back from this, I mean literally. They know they’re gonna die. And they volunteer for it. You can’t beat an enemy like that.”

“I’ve heard we’re doing pretty well out here. Got them on the run,” said Jacobs.

“That’s what the army will tell you … but it’s a lie. I know. I’ve been on R&R. I’ve seen the news. We’re losing. And losing bad.”

“You’re not doing much for my confidence, soldier.”

“This ain’t a war like any before it. It ain’t a straight fight. We’ve got one hand tied behind our back, a blindfold on, and we’ve been spun around. We’ve gotta avoid all the booby traps before we can even get our one arm within swinging range of these guys.”

“Is it wrong to feel betrayed by my country?” It was more a statement than a question. “I’m not even sure I should be saying this to a soldier under my command.” Jacobs shook his head again. “I’ve got to feel betrayed … if I believe what you’re telling me,” he said, “about the progress we’ve made, well, the lack of progress. If we are losing, I’ve been told nothing but a bunch of lies about the war effort since I started my training. Since I volunteered … Why did I volunteer?”

“This is one strange place, LT,” said Bane. “People have seen things in the jungle that can’t be explained. Man wasn’t meant to be in this place. It’s governed by something other than us, greater than us. All the soldiers in this country are fighting for something that doesn’t belong to them. It belongs to the demons.”

“Demons? Not you too.” Jacobs sighed.

“I’ve seen one myself. Flying above my platoon while we waited at night, out on ambush.”

“You’re seeing things that aren’t really there. The mind plays tricks, especially here. The condition you’d have been in, the fatigue, and so on, it isn’t conducive to mental well-being. There are no such things as demons,” said Jacobs.