Not Quite…Secure!

How secure is…not quite secure? It sounds like the definition of false security to me. At least that is how I felt that day.  We completed an uneventful search and destroy mission. It was time to pull out. Sometimes we returned and rested at base camp; sometimes we probed deeper into the mountains. We would know our destination once the choppers successfully transported us. The huey was the ultimate means of transportation in Vietnam.

We arrived at a particularly large landing zone for pick up. As I gazed across the expanse, I couldn’t figure how our company strength could man such a large area. The field was naturally rectangular in shape. We held the upper third of the sloping terrain. Two platoons took positions on each side; to secure the elongated sides below us. We effectively gained some control with this ‘U’ formation. That whole unguarded bottom made me nervous, but I liked our higher end of things.  I heard the Company Commander confirm to the incoming choppers, “Yes the landing zone is secure.”

I didn’t like the  looks of that long straight line of troops on my side. We all formed against the perfect tree line. I looked behind me and noted a nice deep trench. I moved my rucksack to its edge. Leaning against my gear, I awaited the arrival of our ride. The noise of the beating rotors gained my attention. There was room for all six hueys on our high ground.

The lead pilot edged his way almost directly across from my position. As his skid touched the ground, all hell broke loose. Apparently his landing was the signal. The pilot’s jaw dropped, in one of those unforgettable moments. I saw one man jump into the craft, as the pilot buried the stick for rapid ascent.

I flipped my feet over my head and rolled into the trench. I prided myself as being in place, well under my two second rule. The engagement lasted under a minute. Charlie gained a free lick at us…just to say ‘good bye’ for now.  A gunship came to dutifully fire up the lower end.

While retaking my former position,  I heard the cry…Medic! Charlie had managed to hit someone in our own elongated line. I asked, “Is anyone from our platoon hit?” The radio operator confirmed that we had no one hit. One of my guys said, “Doc, its definitely the next platoon over.” Every few seconds I heard the cry, “Medic!” Waiting forever, I finally released my medical bag from my ruck frame and headed down the slope. It felt strange approaching a squad that didn’t know me.

Settling into wound assessment, I was interrupted by a new presence. The new man was a medic. I knew all the medics; I didn’t know him. With a polite long stare, I asked if he had it under control. He replied, “I’ve got it.” I hurried back the 100 feet or so to my platoon.

Currahees…my platoon sergeant let me have it for taking the risk. It was a mild stretch, but how do you ignore the wounded? We were picked up, two choppers landing at a time. The gunship remained until the last troops were in the air. At about 200 feet…I felt secure.