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Solomon came back from the CP. Group as I was finishing my C-ration, or dinner to all the folks who never made it to Vietnam. He called for team leaders up, so Fred and I just went on our way cleaning the area up. Everything had to be taken to a hole where I guess it was eventually covered in. The one thing we were taught in basic , boot camp, and all the other rushed training we received, was you always bury your C-rations and anything else so Charlie wouldn't know you had been there. In this case though it was an exception as he knew where we were, so we were keeping the place as clean as possible as the flies that almost drove you crazy during the day, didn't need to have any more reason to be there due to rotten left over food. Bowman returned and with his pleasant mannerisms instructed us concerning that nights ambush. He said we'd be traveling light, so carry the bare essentials. The bare essentials were canteens, ammo, and your bush hat. He said there was no need for the flack jacket as up here we didn't encounter many booby-traps due to heavy troop movement by the NVA. Lynch was still borrowing water from me, but at this point we had made a friendship between each other that would be as strong in Vietnam as it would be 30 years from then, of course we didn't know that then. Fred and I were almost telepathic as we were able to communicate each up coming move to each other with out having to whisper it to each other at night, or in a suspected area of VC or NVA. This came in handy as Fred and I stuck together like glue over there, even when sent to demo, short for demolition's, school in Da Nang for 2 weeks. Bowman assigned us our positions in the squad. At first Fred walked point with Benny close behind, and I walked tail end charlie, last man in the squad. Our first ambush patrol was to be company size and our squad was lead squad. That meant I wasn't tail end charlie, I'd walk closest to the CP. group, (Command Post) which meant I'd be nearest to our Lt. As you walked, anything that was passed back from someone in front of you was to be passed back to whom ever was behind you if you weren't the last man. That's in case of booby-traps, halting to set up a fire mission on call or just general knowledge. Snake the guy in front of me said, which was Jay as he pointed to this large snake which had just caught something large and was trying to digest it. Everyone ahead of me casually steeped over it as if it was nothing, so I did as well. When in Rome do as the Romans do, I thought to myself. It was just as the sun was going down, the mosquitoes were out by the billions, and buzzed and covered you like a wet blanket. You didn't use the mosquito repellent they gave you. Using it would have told Charlie, who could smell anything we used from the States as if it were literally calling out to him. He'd be able to smell it too, and come climbing up right on top of you before heaving a Chi Com grenade, smack dab on top of your position. Being new you did anything these guys told you as they were the survivors and they knew how to stay alive. We were walking down like an old rail road path or trestle that one day probably carried their goods to the city, possibly Hue City, as that use to be there Capitol City before the North and South divided the Country in half. We made good targets, but looking at the landscape you couldn't imagine how beautiful it was. Large beautiful mountains in the distance, with a river flowing lazily towards the ocean. Rice paddies every where, all sectioned off in what looked to be equal squares, but no villages working in them as curfew was established and anyone seen out at this hour was fair game, for either side I guess. The raise platform of a rode or train track had rice paddies to it's left and jungle to it's right. The jungle was too close for me especially if we were to get ambushed, all we could do is dive to the side of this treacle mound of dirt which seemed to stretch for miles, and call in an artillery barrage on them. Suddenly Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!, we dove for the side of the dirt treacle as rounds sprayed the top where we just had been. Everything went crazy firing like you never in your life experienced, everyone was pumping rounds into a area of jungle, more noise then if you lit an entire set of 1,000 pack of fire crackers off all at the same time except rounds spit into the ground only a fraction of an inch from your body. I fired a shot and my magazine fell out. I was reaching for my magazine when this kid next to me yelled fire you Son of a -----, lay down some covering fire. I just grabbed another magazine shoved it into my M 16 and fired another round and my magazine dropped out again. I started searching for it and this guy went ballistic about firing my weapon. I turned and screamed at him, with what, a single shot M 16? I then noticed it was Lt. Meale and he was scared and pissed. Rounds kept skipping off the top of the road where we'd been, I was watching as some other guy, I think Solomon was yelling at Jim to call in a fire mission. We were the lead element of the platoon, and smack dab in the middle of all this horrendous noise, but no machine gun was firing at us. This all probably took about 3 to 4 minutes but seemed like a life time. The Lt. was yelling if the lead squad could detect movement, and the answer came back NO! Fred was working out big time, crawling to the top firing a few shots and sliding down to change his magazine to his weapon. I now had four magazines to my weapon laying around as darkness seemed to appear out of no where and make it impossible to see anything. The Lt. was still chewing me out for not actively shooting my M 16, but rocks at this point would have been more effective then the a couple of one round I was able to shoot from my weapon. He even yelled if we get out of this Hingston, I'll write you up. Sir I tried to explain, my magazines keeps drooping out of my weapon on every shot. Have you got a fire mission yet the Lt. yells as more rounds spit up the dirt above us. Then we heard seize fire, everybody seize fire, hold it up! There our men! Fred yelled back. How do you know, the Lt. yelled. They called for a "Mother Up" I must have hit a couple Fred yells back. Pop a green cluster Lt. Meale yells. Solomon yells at Jim for a green cluster, give me a couple he said. Whoosh this sound breaks up the sound of bullets still being fired by both sides. Pop! The flare illuminates as they tell us to get down, still the firing keeps up, but less intense then when it began. Put up another the Lt. yells. Yes Sir! Comes the answer from Solomon our squad leader. Then Whoosh from the other side, another green cluster. Firing began to lessen less and less, until you could hear both sides screaming yelling to seize fire. Who are you? Solomon yells out? Second platoon, who are you? First platoon! Anyone hurt Solomon yells? Yea two guys on the machine gun, we need a medevac as quickly as possible. Damn I thought, my first ambush and it's with our own men, what a way to get baptized with being in a fire fight. We took no casualties, except my M 16 that was suppose to pump out 18 rounds as fast as you pulled the trigger, and now was a single shot piece of crap. The Lt. was up talking to their Lt. and both were on the radio to the Captain, I knew there was big trouble for some body. Fred got the two machine gunners on the first burst, which was luck for us as they could have literally cut us to pieces. They had a medevac chopper coming in, so we were to provide security for it so they wouldn't get ambushed by the real enemy. In the meantime I guess the Lt. received a change of orders as we were suppose to have had an ambush position where second platoon was, but they left ahead of us instead or something, it was a big screw up that no body wanted Regiment to find out about. We were suppose to sweep through that site before second platoon got there making it safe for them to move in and set up an ambush. Instead they left before us and thought we were a few hundred meters north or west of them. They weren't expecting us to come moseying along and we didn't expect them to be where they were. Fred later that night told me he heard the bolt of the firing mechanism shut, that's when he opened up right on top of them, seriously wounding the two of them, but rendering the gun useless during the fire fight, which probably saved a lot of guys in first platoon. Evidently since both Platoons were exposed we were given orders to set in, in another area. I remember Carl, "The Boss" ordering no cigarette smoking, and then a fear went through me, as how was I going to keep up without a cigarette. There is an elaborate process one goes through in order to smoke it, a cigarette, without Charlie or the NVA spotting you. I use to put the poncho liner completely over my entire body. Then lift my shirt up and get my head in down through the neck part. Then find a deep part in the hole we just dug and light it very quickly being sure to totally cup it with my hands. I'd stick my head down my shirt every so often for a drag. My kids today still wonder why I hold my cigarettes so strange, and why I don't burn myself. I just tell them Practice, lots and lots of Practice. Another friend of mine, Ben discovered a unique spot in the bushes. He settled in only to be waken by a drizzle of water. It seems his place of concealment was so good that "The Boss" decided to use the same bushes to relive himself for the evening. Ben jumped a mile yet The Boss didn't seem upset as he continued on with his evening constitutional, evidently without pausing once. Some days it doesn't pay to be part of the CP. Group that Ben was. They do get more sleep then your average grunt in the bush, as they are usually are in the center of where we set in. They have the Corpsman, the Lt. and Platoon Sergeant, and 60 mm mortars if they are with us. They also have Ben, our Radio man for the platoon. All squads have one radio, and Alfa Squad found away around that quirk in the system. I guess some days it is better to be pissed off, then on, as far as Ben was concerned. Ben was new in country, but like me had been sent to a Air Wing detachment before arriving about the same time as I did to Hotel Company. Fred and I were still up as it was pitch black by now and you couldn't see any stars. This is a night your especially jumpy, as if they can't see us very well, they'll send out probing units to find our positions. I asked Fred how he felt about nailing two of Second Platoons men. It didn't seem to bother him although he wished they had been NVA. One point we settled on, was why on an ambush they hadn't had their machine gun ready with a 50 round starter clip ready for firing. Thank God they hadn't though as Fred and I wouldn't be discussing it now. He was concerned they weren't hurt too badly, as they too were fellow Marines. Morning came without any incidents, we were worried about the triggering
of the ambush would alert every NVA and VC for miles, but I guess 2/4 when
they had this area taught them not to mess with Marines. Plus all but a
few of us were seasoned Marines who had already seen there share of fire
fights. These guys were use to going up against the NVA under manned and
highly out numbered, and still walking away with a victory under their
belts. Suddenly out of no where to PN or RVN soldiers were in the middle
of our unit. They had set out the night before to find us and apparently
walked back and fourth half the night in our killing zone. Killing zone
is where you allow the majority of the enemy to be before springing the
ambush. The Boss was rip roaring mad and in 25 words or less let us know
and with his pep talk assured in our minds it would never happen again,
anyone to walk up and down and through our "Killing Zone". Never did as
far as I can ever think of, the entire time he was our Platoon Sergeant.
When The Boss spoke he had everyone's complete attention, and God help
the one or ones he didn't have their complete attention.
Continue to follow along with Hotel Company 1st Platoon as the excite isn't far away, we did have many conflicts and engagements with the NVA and VC. Stay tuned to hear how they turned out. Author: Bobby Hingston
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