Incident at Plei Soi (Vietnam Ground Zero Military Thrillers Book 10) by Eric Helm

Author:Eric Helm [Helm, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2021-02-20T22:00:00+00:00

“Captain,” said Fetterman, “I think we’ve got movement in the wire.”

Gerber grabbed a pair of binoculars, held them to his eyes and demanded, “Where?”

Fetterman moved closer, being careful not to silhouette himself in the firing port. “About a hundred meters out and at one o’clock.”

“Okay,” said Gerber, turning his binoculars toward the area Fetterman had pointed out. He swept the ground carefully, but the mist was too thick and the night too dark.

“Can’t see anything,” said Gerber. “Tell you what. Why don’t you break out your M-79 and put a couple of rounds of willy pete out there? See if that stirs up anything.”

Fetterman moved to the rear of the small bunker and grabbed the M-79. Using his fingers, he located the white phosphorus rounds by size and shape and loaded one. He jammed two more into his pocket and returned to the firing port.

“You going to tell anyone we’re shooting?”

“Right.” Gerber found the handset for the field phone, spun the crank and told the command post they would be putting out three rounds of willy pete.

Then Fetterman adjusted the sight, aimed and fired. A second later there was an explosion in the wire as the round detonated into a brilliant fountain of flaming white. The ground was brightly illuminated for a moment until the willy pete burned itself out.

Gerber used his binoculars again. Behind the flaming debris he thought he saw a human shape, but the mist made it impossible to tell.

Fetterman fired a second round, dropping this one just beyond the first. Part of the eastern end of the bunker line opened fire, their rounds churning up the ground near the wire where Fetterman had aimed. Red tracers flashed into the night, some of them tumbling.

And then there was a single searing note from a bugle, and it seemed that the wire blew up. There were five explosions, one following the other, walking toward the bunker line as gaps appeared.

Gerber grabbed his rifle and flipped the safety off. “This is it,” he said.

The Browning M-2 .50-caliber machine gun sited against the far wall of the bunker opened fire with a slow, monotonous hammering. The hot brass ejected from it rattled against the wood of the bunker, and the muzzle-flash reached out nearly ten feet.

From outside came a rising shout, and trip flares began to go off as the enemy started the ground assault. They rushed from the safety of the trees half a klick away, materializing out of the mist, screaming and shouting. They fired as they ran, ignoring the booby traps and trip flares scattered through the wire.

Gerber snatched at the handset of the field phone and pressed the switch at its center. “Here they come. Give us illumination over the north wall.”

He tossed the handset away and aimed his rifle out the firing port. He saw a man loom out of the grayness of the mist as the first of the flares popped overhead. Gerber fired quickly and saw the man go down. The enemy soldier raised himself slightly and then collapsed, lying still.

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