The Thump of Mortars

No one likes 4th of July fireworks as much as I. But the initial hollow sounds of the discharging tubes still bring back the memories. Sounds get to me far more than images. It remains a struggle. Once the sky lights up pretty, I can reframe the experience.  The hollow thump takes me back to then…every time; the beautiful colors return me to now.

I first heard the first thump at LZ Betty, our basecamp in Phan Thiet. Everyone served on perimeter watch, to secure the basecamp.  The towers and bunkers had been firmly constructed long before we took over these positions. I felt uncomfortable in thinking the enemy must know this perimeter far better than we did. Then I heard the thump. The first mortar rounds went off. Yet they sounded random and ineffective. I realized the enemy didn’t know anymore than I. A crap shot would have the same random chance as a bolt of lightening.

We would fire flares behind them. The light would compromise their position. The enemy mortar teams would run off for another night. These proved repeat performances over time. Initially I served the perimeter with headquarters personnel. My later experiences were with the line units that rotated for a ‘rest’ in the rear. I could never figure out how we would rest pulling perimeter duty. However, I knew the base was far more secure with a line unit than: clerks, jerks, spare medics and cooks guarding them.

Of all things, I am most grateful never to have experienced a mortar barrage on a fixed position. Most of my fellow Currahees have been there. By fixed, I mean the enemy has your exact grid.  Once that is established…they fire for effect. Mortars create mass casualty situations. They are extremely effective.

I do remember an evening during the dry months. We were on a search and destroy mission in the rice paddies. The sun baked the clay fields into bricks. I pulled out my entrenching tool for a fruitless dig. We made a hell of a noise.  I couldn’t cover my big toe with my best effort. Our unit operated at company size. We scattered a hundred men over a wider expanse; that was the only thing in our favor. As night fell, the order came for silence…stop digging. Then the word came down to keep our gear together.

We were ordered to move out…in strict silence. Have you ever heard one hundred men move without making a noise? I heard some that night…not much. Any noise could be absolutely deadly. We moved two or three full clicks. Reaching another nameless position in that maize of rice paddies, we settled in. We had no dig, no food, no nothing.

Then I heard the thumps. It was fire for effect. The light was so very beautiful. They fired up our old position! It was a rain of death in the wrong place. We took a heck of a chance to escape hell. Our company commander had been spot on. We were watching from the safety of an unknown position. The enemy’s fire was as fruitless as our original dig!

Officers do not take critiques from enlisted personnel. However, the next morning I caught the captain alone. I looked him in the eye and said, “Thank you sir. I know its not my place. But I know that you saved our lives.” He turned his glance momentarily. I took it as a silent acknowledgement of message received. I walked away in respect for a great leader.

Currahees…I could have kissed the captain’s butt with my masculinity intact that day. Because of him…I never experienced that full rain of terror. To that unnamed captain I again say, “Thank you Sir!”