With nothing else to do, Hannibal had nevertheless been unable to sit still. They'd taken two more days in Saigon, then headed for CCN where they waited for Murdock's transfer. When it wasn't cleared up in three days, Hannibal paid a visit to LZ English. All the necessary paperwork was signed and delivered within twenty-four hours. Hannibal was good at making people jump. It was a talent.
He was also good at staying active. If they weren't doing anything else, they might as well pull a recon patrol or two. Face didn't entirely understand this reasoning. However routine such an assignment might be, soldiers did die out there. Frequently, even. Entire teams went MIA, sometimes only minutes after insertion. He was pretty sure that the general didn't want to come back and find out that his team had been wiped out on a routine mission they hadn't even been ordered to take.
Trying to explain the irony in Hannibal's restless searching for something to do – Face would've found it hilarious if not for the whole "death" thing – was not enough to convince him that it wasn't a good idea. He needed the action, the excitement. He also needed permission – which was why they were stuck at CCN until one of the camp commanders at an FOB replied to his request.
Give it another day or two, and he'd probably be paying them a visit too.
Being stuck here wasn't a bad thing. It was a four hundred by six hundred foot rectangular camp that was almost like a resort except for the barbed wire and twenty-foot guard towers at each corner. The camp backed up to the beach of Da Nang Bay - which was not the most sanitary place to swim, but that didn't stop any of them. Safely surrounded by American bases, and with a big PX down the road, it was a nice place hang out for a few days. The NCO club was even air conditioned – a luxury that few places afforded.
"Marines say there's VC around here," Cruiser informed as he changed into a pair of shorts, leaving the sweat-soaked fatigues on the floor.
Face, lying on his stomach with his arms under his head, didn't bother to open his eyes. "There's VC everywhere," he reminded. Nevertheless, he checked once more to make sure that the pistol under his pillow was easily accessible.
"I'd like to talk to that security patrol when they come back," Cruiser mumbled under his breath.
Face barely heard him. "You're welcome to wait up. They'll probably be in just before dawn."
Cruiser considered it. But he was tired. Perhaps not as tired as Murdock, who'd fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Cruiser watched him for a moment, then glanced at the two empty bunks on the other side. "Where's BA and Hannibal?"
"Club," Face slurred. "There's some kind of going away party for a guy about to DEROS. They both knew him."
"Didn't the club close at midnight?"
"What time is it now?"
"Almost one."
"Go to sleep, Cruiser. It's one o'clock in the freakin' morning."
"Right."
It was the last Face heard from him. Slipping his arms under the pillow, Face let his hand rest against the barrel of the Browning 9mm, the metal quickly warming against his skin. It was the last thing he was aware of as he drifted off to sleep.
Explosion. Face's eyes opened and his grip tightened on the weapon in his hand, but relaxed again just as quickly. If anyone was going to attack here, they'd have a lot of barriers to get through first. They were surrounded by American camps. One of them was probably firing illumination. The mortar fire hadn't seemed terribly close. He closed his eyes again.
The sudden sound of AK fire made him sit up so fast he almost hit his head on the bunk above him. "What the hell?"
In the next instant, Murdock dropped to the floor, crouched beside him and holding his pistol. "That's inside the camp!"
"Cruiser!" Face hissed as he stood and walked to the screened window, carefully peering out. Three feet away was a Vietnamese man in only khaki shorts, his body glistening with grease and a satchel charge in his hand. Face responded instantly and without thought – putting a single bullet through his head.
Instantly, there was another enemy in the doorway, firing wildly into the room with his AK-47. "Get down!" he heard Murdock yell. Face fell back, rolling under the bed at the same time that he fired five shots at the door, hitting the man in the shoulder. He stopped firing, and fell back – away from the door.
"Anyone hit?" Face asked, still covering the door.
"I'm good," Murdock called back.
"Same here," Cruiser answered, fully awake. "Where's Hannibal and BA? They never came back?"
"We gotta find them."
Face crawled out from under the bed, keeping his gun pointed at the door as he went for the CAR-15 under his bed. It was already loaded, but Face checked it anyway while he had a few seconds, and grabbed another clip for the 9 mil from under his mattress. Wearing only a pair of shorts, Face threw his holster over his shoulders and shoved the gun inside.
"Grenade!"
Face grabbed the mattress and pulled it over him as the explosion hit. The force of it took out the flimsy wall and put him – with the mattress – through it. Half-dressed and torn by grenade fragments, still lying beneath the mattress, he shook his head to clear it. He was on the dirt, and he'd lost his grip on the CAR-15. Just as importantly, the building behind him was in flames.
In the light of the burning buildings, he saw nothing but chaos and carnage. Bodies of NVA and Americans alike lay dead and dying, scattered everywhere. The shadows were moving – sappers running everywhere between the corrugated tin buildings. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Face reached for the pistol strapped to his side. His eyes locked on one of the sappers, whirling a long cord over his head to arm the RPG he was getting ready to throw. A single shot to the head and he fell.
Face crawled out from under the mattress, staying low to the ground as he made it back to the hootch. "Cruiser! Murdock!"
"Here!" Murdock coughed.
Face turned, and crawled to him. "You hit?" he demanded.
Murdock shook his head, but Face saw that he was bleeding from his leg. "I'm fine."
"Where's Cruiser?"
"He went back in. For the guns."
"Hey!"
Face looked up at the sound of Cruiser's voice, just in time to see him drop down through the hole in the wall and land in a crouch in the sand. He shoved an M-16 at Face, and passed one over to Murdock. "Just remember, if you fire, they're gonna fire back."
Face looked around. His eyes came to rest on a Jeep about ten yards away, parked against one of the dark buildings. "Cruiser, they'll need you in the dispensary," he said quickly. "Get to that Jeep. Murdock, go with him. Cover him."
"Right." Murdock moved instantly.
"Pick up any men you can along the way."
"Where you going?" Cruiser asked.
Face held his gaze for just a moment. "I gotta find Hannibal and BA."
Cruiser nodded, and clapped his shoulder before starting for the jeep at a low run.
Where was the rest of the team? They couldn't be at the officer's club – it would be closed. They wouldn't be at the TOC – they had no mission. The communications bunker? Face was sure they wouldn't have left the base without letting the rest of them know. He had to find them, if that meant crawling on his hands and knees from one end of this camp to the other.
Face headed for the commo building by way of the mess hall. That was where he found them both, and three other men who'd dug in. "Glad you could join us, Face," Hannibal greeted as Face threw his back to the wall beside where Hannibal was positioned by the window. "How's Cruiser and Murdock?" From his calm tone, he might have just as easily been asking about the weather.
"Alive when I left them." He craned his neck to peer out the window carefully. "What's going on over there?"
"There's a bunch of VC pinned down by the TOC," BA informed, between rounds.
Face did a double take on the weapon in BA's hands. It was an AK-47, covered in blood. He must have taken it from one of the sappers. Hopefully, he knew he'd better be careful with it. The distinctive sound of the sappers' guns was all that distinguished them from the friendlies – both were half-dressed and it was awfully dark.
"Shit, what is this idiot doing?" one of the unfamiliar men muttered.
Face looked again. In the shifting shadows from the fires, he watched a light-haired American wave at the sappers and call out in surrender. "He's looking to get himself shot is what he's doing," Hannibal answered.
Sure enough, it took only seconds for the sappers to shoot him dead. Face watched him fall, and shook his head at the naivety that had cost him his life. Then he turned to Hannibal. "We got a plan? Or are we just gonna stand here and shoot it out with them all night?"
They wouldn't get far shooting it out. The sappers had taken shelter behind the sandbags that protected the TOC. Their own security measures - to protect their critical operations center - had been turned against them.
"Any men still alive in the TOC?" Face questioned. The single entrance to the building was always guarded, and he saw no guards. They would've gone inside the shelter of the three-feet-thick cement walls.
"If there are, they prob'ly wounded," BA answered. "Sappers pushed out the air conditioner. Threw grenades in there."
Hannibal turned his head. "BA? How far can you throw a grenade? Could you hit the TOC?"
One of the other men raised a brow. "You're going to throw grenades at the TOC?"
BA gauged the distance. Forty yards, more or less. He nodded to Hannibal. "I could make it."
No sooner had he answered than an AK round cracked through the window and hit the M-16 of the man furthest left. He cried out as the second automatic round hit his arm, shattering it right along with the gun. The enemy had spotted them, and suddenly the sky rained bullets.
"Face get on the other side," Hannibal ordered, gesturing for him to move. Low to the floor, he crawled past Hannibal, the two men still uninjured, and BA.
"How many grenades do we have?" Hannibal demanded.
"Two," BA answered quickly.
"Two more."
"Three more."
Face didn't even have pants, much less grenades. As he knelt next to the bleeding figure, he looked around the room, but there were no grenades in the mess hall. "That's seven," Hannibal counted. "And I've got three."
"Hang in there," Face said quietly, holding eye contact with the bleeding man, whose teeth were gritted hard against the pain. "We'll be back."
The man nodded, his body rigid and still. Face took the grenades from his belt. "Three more," he offered with a quick glance at Hannibal.
"Face, cover," Hannibal ordered. "You two pull pins. Let's go!"
At his command, Face immediately turned and sprayed fire back at the men poking over the top of the sandbag wall. With two men to pull pins and hand grenades, BA let each one simmer for about two seconds before lobbing them expertly across the open area. Each one exploded right over the heads of the sappers. Ten feet overhead, then five as he refined his aim and timing, then right over top of them. At least half of them must have been killed. The others fell back.
"Move in!" Hannibal yelled.
Still focused on the TOC but sweeping all directions in search of any sappers who would shoot at them as they crossed, Face fired in quick bursts and walked with steady steps, in perfect time with Hannibal. The synchronization was effortless. All around them, AKs, CAR-15s, and M-16s fired intermittently. To the left, a muzzle flare caught Face's eye and he turned his gun as fast as he turned his head. The two shots in their direction didn't hit. His did, and the sapper fell.
Recapturing the TOC took only minutes. It was harder to get the thick door open. Hannibal pounded on it as the other four stood guard, weapons ready for anyone who shot in their direction. Several minutes later, the bolt finally unlatched and the Lieutenant Colonel CCN commander peered out to see who was yelling in English. Once he was convinced that the men outside were not in duress – telling him to open the door so that the VC could come in – he let them inside and the door shut behind them. Face locked it and followed at the back of the line into the room.
The men inside were all wounded – two of them badly. One was dead. The commander was a little shaky as he recounted the grenades that had killed him instantly. "Go get our man from the commo bunker," Hannibal ordered the two unfamiliar soldiers that had crossed the street with them. "Bring him here, and stay here with the injured until it's safe. BA, Face, you come with me. We're going to walk the perimeter."
Dead soldiers were scattered around the camp – Vietnamese and American alike. The sun, still low on the horizon, reflected off of the ocean and lit the camp as soon as it broke the barrier. In the morning haze, it was easier to see than in the dead of night. Robbed of the darkness, the sappers who were still alive retreated into the jungle, back through the cut wires that they'd squeezed through to get in. Hannibal shot two of them on the way out – wounding both only enough to incapacitate them and take them prisoner. Once they dropped each of them unceremoniously in the street – without their weapons - the other soldiers were all too happy to take charge. Hannibal and Face went back to the perimeter. BA carried wounded men to the dispensary.
All through the camp, skirmish lines of Americans still well enough to walk methodically searched every building, pulling soldiers both living and dead out of the rubble. The smell of blood and burned out buildings hung thick in the air. The NVA would be celebrating today; they had killed more Green Berets in three hours than in the past six months.
Once the perimeter was secure, Face made a quick stop at the dispensary – just long enough to wave at Murdock and let him know they were all okay. The dispensary was a mess of blood and chaos. Cruiser rushed among the overworked medics to save dozens of lives while volunteers held IV bottles.
Face knew, as he watched volunteers slip the still-warm bodies of soldiers into bags, that he should stay. His medical training wasn't extensive, but he knew how to start IVs and stitch wounds – which was more than most of these men probably knew. But all the people, and all the blood, and too many familiar faces made him back away. Numb and hazed with confusion, he stumbled to the NCO club, poured a shot of Jack Daniels, and chased it with a beer. He didn't even look up as Hannibal sat down next to him and took the bottle.
"You okay, kid?"
He nodded mutely, but still felt Hannibal's gaze rake over him, searching his injuries. He leaned forward, holding his head in his hands as he suddenly realized that he was still dressed only in the shorts he'd slept in, and bleeding from the shrapnel that had cut through his arms and legs and back. "Jesus, Hannibal, what happened?"
"I don't know," Hannibal admitted. "I really don't know."
