Laos File by Dale A. Dye

Laos File by Dale A. Dye

Author:Dale A. Dye [Dye, Dale]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Warriors Publishing Group
Published: 2012-11-05T16:45:05+00:00


15. The Trace — 1970

“Sorry 'bout the quick turn-around, people, but we got a little problem out in The Trace. Helo inbound twenty mikes. Saddle up and go light. Weapons, ammo, water, split kit and fighting gear. Sgt. Davis, they're ready to brief you up at the COc.”

Con Thien supposed to be a respite; short stop-over to rest Recon Team Slingshot after five nut-shrinking, no-slack, no-sleep days on the far side of that fucking Ben Hai blue line. Four days of pouring sweat and scoping gooners at play in their own backyard. And hell yes, to state the fucking obvious, there is a shit-pot full of them over there masked by Signal Mountain and they are indeed headed south by night in big goddamn droves. What else can we do for you, Colonel? Five fucked up, brain dead Recon Marines on final approach to a hard landing from a Dexedrine high standing by for orders...and ain’t there somebody else somewhere on this fucking hill capable of doing whatever it is?

It is an aviation problem...or rather a problem with a Marine who formerly aviated...in an A-6 Intruder. Seems this particular bird from one of the Marine all-weather attack squadrons at Danang selected an egress route off target that included air space guarded by a very efficient, highly-pissed gook triple-A battery. Said battery ripped the living shit out of the Intruder, fucking up the flight controls and the pilot who just managed to make the Ben Hai before he died...leaving his bombardier-navigator with nothing to do but scream for help and punch the fuck out.

Wingman pushing bingo fuel reported the BN down in the tall grass of The Trace. He saw a good chute and heard the guy check in on his survival radio. All kinds of high-speed rescue rangers headed for the area but the ground-bound BN had a pressing problem while he waited for transportation. He was in the middle of a mess of gooks who also saw a good chute as well as a golden opportunity to snatch a POW and move him north in record time. What he needed was a brace of bodyguards who could buy him some time until the Jolly Green appeared overhead. What he needed was fellow Marine ground-pounders out there with him...a gang of King Hell bushbeasts who could tuck him under their reeking armpits until the cavalry arrived.

Questions? Well, hell, Sgt. Davis...once he’s cozy aboard the rescue chopper you and your guys do what you normally do. You just melt into the tall grass and disappear. Head south toward Con Thien; we’ll leave a light on for you and pump a bunch of arty out there if you think you need it.

Skids of the slick barely brushing the elephant grass when Kid Crewchief grins at the lunatics sitting in the doors and gives the go sign. Last known position for your guy on the ground, gents. Kindly exit quickly as that shit clanging into the fuselage is most definitely enemy ground fire.

Gook



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