Trafford Publishing: Echo Five Papa

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Echo Five Papa

by Thomas Prater

270 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0324; ISBN 1-55369-511-9; US$25.00, C$28.45, EUR20.50, £14.50

Drafted into the Marine Corps, Tom Prater discovers the reality of the Vietnam War. His gung-ho ideas turn into a survival story.

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about the book      about the author      excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book

Although he regretted leaving his young family, Tom Prater felt it his duty to serve in Vietnam. It doesn't take long before he discovers that there is no romance in the nightmare of war. Saving your buddy, fear, ambushes and booby traps become his tour of duty. Survival becomes the order of the day. With the vivid descriptions you feel you are there.

About the Author

Tom Prater lives in a small costal tour in Oregon where he enjoys his wife, grandchildren and fish pond.

Excerpt

Chapter 19
Drawing Straws

I heard my name called. "Prater check the area for a body count."
    I took a few more minutes to survey the ambush sight. I wanted to fix it in my memory so I would always remember, if I made it through this mess, what war was like.
    Body counts were always exaggerated. If you killed fifty, they doubled it and said it was one hundred. I really didn't like handling the dead, but it did seem that you got used to it. It was much easier moving the NVA dead than your own. Body parts are all the same, some are just a little bigger than others. Belly wounds with intestines hanging out, brains exposed, or eyes hanging out, bothered me. I had to focus on nothing while I carried bodies of this kind. The dismembered bodies were revolting to me also. It always amazed me how white the bones appeared to be. It could be just the contrast between the red of the blood and muscle that made the bones look so white. It reminded me of white piano teeth.
    "Prater, do you have an ace of spades?" It was Bates.
    "No I'm out" I said.
    Bates always carried plenty of aces with him but he was out now and wanted mine. It was a tradition to place an ace of spades on the enemy you killed. It didn't bother me to do that. That is about all I would do. Some cut off ears, fingers and mutilated bodies.
    We started stacking the dead the way you stack sand bags. When the pile got shoulder high we'd quit. It was too hard to lift them any higher. When we got a pile of fifty we stopped for a rest. There were another fifty more on the ground. The body count would be one hundred. The C.O. pushed it to two hundred.
    He said that some of the dead were removed when the NVA broke off and fell back. What he said was true. They tried to take their dead and wounded with them just like we did.
    I remembered being a happy go lucky, energetic young man not so long ago. Now I was numb from fear, pain, constant work, never having time just to rest. I had become a machine like the rest of the young men here in Nam. My life, if you can call this a life, was walking, climbing, digging, carrying and killing. My thoughts were always deep when doing this type of work. Stacking bodies had to be the most sobering task we did. It made me wonder when my time would come. Seeing the dead made it clear that time does run out. You wondered constantly, "When would it be your turn."     I overheard Lt. Carroll talking with Miller. "You are in charge. After we get set in at the LZ we'll call you. Until then you stay alert and be careful. When we call you to come in, we'll give you a pass word to get through the perimeter." Lt. Carroll motioned for me to move to where he and Miller were talking. He told me the same thing he had said to Miller. I really didn't want to stay out here in the middle of the jungle. When he said good luck, I thought, "If you mean it, you stay out here and I'll go back to the LZ."     I said, "Thanks. How long do you think it will take before you give us the word to come in?"
    "Two hours to get back if nothing happens. Two hours to set up a perimeter. We won't leave you out here any longer than we have to." With that he and the few other men and Jemenez were gone.     As I watched them make their way down the trail I wondered if we would make it through this night.
    "Prater, let's booby trap the area."
    We knew about booby traps. Most of our casualties were from booby traps. Down in the valley, near Hill 10, there were four vills. These vills surrounded Hill 10. The VC made it a common practice to booby trap any place we might patrol.
    Booby traps were made from B-3 cans with explosives and nails in them. Sharpened pieces of bamboo dipped in human excrement, were placed in holes with a grass mat to cover the hole. Dirt and straw were placed on top of the mat.
    They rearmed bombs that hadn't exploded. Swing logs were put in strategic locations. So we became familiar with booby traps.
    I felt we were justified in setting traps for them. Ours were very simple. We used our M26 grenades, pulled the cotter key, but held the spool in place, then placed the grenade between two objects so the spool didn't come off. We took several boot laces out of the boots left in the area. These we attached to the grenade. When the NVA tripped over the lace or pulled it, it would pull the grenade free from between the two objects and it would go off. Several of these traps were arranged around the ambush site.
    "Let's bobby trap the bodies," Sgt. Miller said.
    That didn't appeal to me. I thought that we would probably die that night when the NVA came after their dead. I was tired, frightened, and discouraged.
    Finally I said to myself, "Why not?"
    We pulled the cotter pin and put the grenade underneath the bodies. The weight from the body held the spool in place. The theory was when they picked up their dead the spool would release and the grenade would go off. We put several among the bodies.
    It was almost dark now. Vietnam was a land of divisions. Day and night were two of those divisions. Day offered hope, but it was a time to prepare for the night. Night was without hope. It was dark and frightening. We had to camouflage our faces. Using coloring sticks we mixed greens, browns, and blacks. I thought of the Indians going into combat. They usually used bright colors to make themselves look wild and fierce. Our colors were dull and feeble to help us blend into the night and hide from the enemy. To break up the outlines of our bodies we used leaves and branches. When we had finished camouflaging our faces and bodies we gathered behind the rock formation that had been our command post earlier.
    We had to draw straws to see who would leave the rock formation, crawl down the trail, and provide a listening post for our little group. That person could warn the others behind the rock formation and give them a chance to fight. I don't know why I volunteered, I just did.
    "Are you sure?" Miller asked.
    "No, but I am going," I said.
    I hated the dark. I hated the jungle. I hated what was in the jungle, snakes, bugs, tigers, elephants, and rock apes. It seemed to me that duty to the Corps and to my friends outweighed the fears.
    Miller said, "As soon as Lt. Carroll calls, I will whistle, when you hear it, come in. Semper fi, Prater"
    It felt good to be doing something noble again. That was the way I felt when I first came to Vietnam. We all felt like we were going to save South Vietnam from communism. After five months I had lost that feeling, until now. This time the feeling came from loving the men in Bravo Company and wanting to serve them.
    Crawling like a snake, as close to the ground as I could, and moving as quickly as possible so as not to give my position away, I made my way down the trail. At night, sound travels better than in the day. Your senses become more alert when you can't see. In the jungle at night it was so black you could see nothing. I pushed one arm forward, feeling for what was in front of me before I pulled by body along. Suddenly I felt an arm. At first it startled me. Then I remembered I was crawling in the direction of the bodies. Feeling around more I felt arms, legs, and even a handful of intestines. I moved quicker just to get away from the bodies. I went about fifty meters away from the rock formation. I was on the trail again. I knew by the hard surface. I rolled to my right just enough to get into the brush to hide myself even more. I reached out to see if I could feel the hard surface of the trail. I could just feel the edge. Knowing where the trail was would make it possible for me to find my way back to the rock formation when Miller signaled me.
    Now all I had to do was listen. In the direction of the LZ, I could just barely hear the men of Charley and Bravo Companies. It came only a few times and only when I was concentrating and holding my breath. Maybe I was just imagining it to make myself feel safer.
    All of a sudden the night filled with brightness over the LZ. Puff was dropping flares. They were candlesticking the whole area. It was beautiful. The demolished forest took on a weird abstract look with the flares filtering down and rocking back and forth making the distorted jungle almost dance. Then I remembered if I could see, the NVA could see too. The flares went softly out and the darkness was even darker. It took five to ten minutes to adjust my eyes from light to dark. Until then, there wasn't much you could see. Not that you could see anything, but it was enough to make the difference. Thirty minutes later Puff dropped more flares. This time I used the light to get my bearings. I could barely make out the rock formation. It was a relief to see it. I was hoping I could see Miller and Bates. I should have known they were trying to hide too. It was just impossible to pick them out. Puff would work out all night. I had it all planned, when Miller whistled I would crawl back onto the trail and crawl in the direction of my left arm.
    I had positioned my left arm to point toward the rock formation. The flares went off again. I knew they were what was left of two companies of marines to my left about three miles away. To my right I didn't know how far, there were as many as a thousand NVA. For all practical purposes I was alone with only my wits and physical body to see me through.
    "What was that?" It was the noise I had heard earlier that I thought was Bravo Company setting in. I heard it again. It sounded like a stomach growling. Then it sounded like a fart. It came from the direction of the bodies. I wondered if one of them was still alive. Maybe he was dying. I hoped they were all dead and it was just some trapped gas leaving a body. How much could one person take?
    What a day. I thought of all the dead and wounded, the fear and the physical exhaustion. I did find some comfort though when I remembered I hadn't seen Bill and Dave among the dead or wounded. That didn't mean they weren't, it just meant there was some hope. The flares started again. How many times had Puff dropped flares? I counted maybe ten times. That meant we had been out five hours. I strained to see my watch. It was after 1 a.m. The C.O. should have called by now. I started to get a little nervous. I knew the NVA would be here soon if they were coming. It's horrible when you concentrate so hard that every noise sounds like something it's not. Especially when your life depends on recognizing a noise to tell you when the enemy is coming. It was so quiet that I could hear pops and snaps from trees burning. The jungle was still smoldering from the earlier barrage. Each snap and pop was analyzed by my brain in split seconds to determine what was making the sound. Every time I recognized and identified it as something other than the enemy my blood pressure would drop. I would almost feel comfortable hiding in my little camouflaged hideaway. As soon as I relaxed a little, anticipation would build again as I listened for another noise. The smell of sulfur and blood mixed with smoke was still in the air. My senses were being overworked listening, smelling, and squinting between flares to try to see into the blackness.
    I was concentrating so much on hearing that I almost didn't recognize the odor of garlic. When I did notice another odor starting to blend in with the sulfur, smoke, and blood, I almost screamed. The pounding of my heart was so hard that I could feel it in my ears down to my toes. Garlic was the smell I identified with all Vietnamese. They were out there! But where? That's what I had to determine, as quickly as possible. I started to question, "Why hadn't the C.O. called us in yet?" It had to be after 2:00 am. That made it over seven hours since the last group left for the LZ.
    The coldness of the night was starting to be felt now. It was the first time I noticed being cold. This told me also it was longer than the C.O. meant for it to take. I thought about crawling back to the rock formation to see if they had heard anything from the C.O. yet. I thought it would give my position away. My chances were better if I lay quiet and undetected. I slipped several grenades from the pockets in my pants and lay them where I could get to them faster. The smell of garlic was getting stronger. I could really smell it now. I knew the NVA could identify us by smell also. We were always told not to wash with perfumed soaps, or use after shave. Here in the jungle you were lucky to have water to drink so no one used it to bathe. We knew, no matter what we did to mask our odor, they could still smell something about us that told them we were Americans. The garlic odor was so strong that I tried to concentrate on sounds that would indicate their movement. Sure enough, I could hear sounds of broken twigs and the rustling of bamboo.
    Now I could crawl back to the rock formation and let them know the NVA were coming in. I had done my job. All I had to do now was crawl back without being seen. I waited until Puff dropped flares again. When they finally went completely out and the jungle was dark again, I began to crawl slowly back. I hoped the NVA would not see me and that Miller and Bates wouldn't be trigger happy. Crawling past the stacked bodies between me and the rock formation was done without distraction this time. My life was in jeopardy and I paid no attention to the dead.
    The closer I got to the rock formation the safer I felt. I wanted to warn Miller and Bates that I was coming in, so I started whispering, "Miller, Miller."
    There was no reply. I repeated it once more as quietly as I thought possible and yet still be heard. Still no reply. I was only ten feet or so from the rock formation now. Surely Miller and Bates could hear me. Were they dead? Had the NVA sneaked past me and cut their throats? They were very skilled in camouflage and moving without being seen or heard. They could sneak through hundreds of feet of consentina wire without being seen or even tripping the trip wires. They would lay out a bandolier torpedo, crawl out and detonate it before anyone knew they were there. So it was highly likely that they could have killed Miller and Bates without being seen or heard.
    I kept crawling to where I thought Miller and Bates were hiding. Once behind the rocks, I knew that no one had killed them. There were no bodies. What had happened? I couldn't figure it out. My mind raced over the situation like a computer trying to analyze the problem. Surely they hadn't left me out here without calling for me to come in. They would have let me know if the C.O. had called. They weren't dead or at least not here where I had last seen them. I was alone, this time totally alone. The adrenalin surge made my head pound. My throat was tight and dry. The last time I had had water was hours ago. With all the fear and urgency that had taken place all I had thought about was staying alive, but now my body was saying I needed water. Knowing I was in the jungle with hundreds of NVA ready to move in, or already just feet away in the darkness, took priority over my need for water.
    What should I do? Had Miller and Bates just moved to a different spot that offered better protection? Were they dead? Had they left me here all alone and headed back to the L.Z. alone? These questions were answered by a noise I recognized. The prick ten radio had an easy to identify noise. It was the squelch it made while being keyed. The quiet of the night made it possible for me to hear the noise that was in front of me some distance in the direction of the L.Z. They had left me out here! Why would they do such a thing? Didn't they know about loyalty, bravery, being a marine? Just at that point I hated them almost as much as I hated the NVA. There was no time to think. I had to run, just run. It was too dark to run. So I started walking in the direction of the L.Z. I had no idea what I was going to do once I got there. How would I get into the perimeter?

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