BODY COUNT: A Novel of the Battle of Suoi Tre by David Allin

Author:David Allin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2021-08-05T23:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

Tuesday, 21 March 1967: 0635 Hours

The mortars rained down like a deadly hailstorm; there were too many to count, the explosions overlapping in a mind-rattling cacophony. It was like an orchestra with ten kettle drums, each being played rapidly to a different beat. Conklin pressed his body flat against the floor of his fighting position, his face in the dirt. His left hand held his helmet in place, and his right hand gripped his rifle. The earth beneath him trembled while Conklin kept his eyes tightly closed and prayed. From the sound of the explosions, he judged the mortars were the relatively small 60-millimeter and slightly larger 82-millimeter rounds, but either one could make you just as dead as a big artillery shell. A round impacted just to the front of his fighting position, and small clods of dirt pelted his back and bounced off his helmet. The number of incoming mortar rounds was astonishing; he had never been subjected to such a barrage before, and he tried to imagine how many tubes the enemy must have out there to stage such a bombardment.

His ears rang from the continual percussion, and the air reeked of the explosives, smoke, and dust being thrown up. Lifting his head a couple inches, Conklin blinked the dirt from his eyes and considered his options. The smart thing to do would be to cower in the hole and hope no random mortar round landed in there with him, but he knew his duty was more than that. He needed to check on his men and assess the overall situation. Pulling his legs beneath him into a squatting position, he rose up enough to see over the tops of the sandbags, jerking his head left and right to glance down the line of foxholes before ducking back down. All the positions looked intact, and he had even seen the tops of a couple helmets. Mortar rounds burst on both sides of the line, and he caught a brief glimpse of the concertina wire taking a direct hit and separating, the two ends recoiling like a broken Slinky. Shuffling his feet, he twisted around and popped up again to observe the rest of the fire support base, and the scene was not inspiring.

Explosions were everywhere, throwing dirt and smoke into the air with the shattering noise assaulting Conklin’s ears. He dropped back down and replayed what he had just seen from inside the protection of his foxhole. The bare expanse of the fire support base was alive with scores of random blasts, like the dry land version of big drops of rain splashing on a calm pond. The only men he saw were a few brave souls in the artillery compound who were trying to lay their guns. The mortar barrage was just as heavy there as on the rest of the base, so the men were constantly ducking for cover while they shifted the howitzers into position. He didn’t envy those men. Previously he had thought

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