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x forward
PM, cold
_ age

Hleg “Urs of

Death
in the

Mecong
Delta

oad been marching all night
Deca sion SS the endless rice paddies.
tikes ely we crossed tree lines or
hour. yecred with bush. Hour after
tage Tung out in long lines, we
deg Re ae feet through the water and
Mee 9 Sing muck. We were trying
fore, S20 to catch a local Viet-Cong
With the: Surprise, working in unison
turing South Vietne mese army. Once
leete, et long night, we came unde-
ton ae Small hamlet. At the edge of
ahd bys Ud bank overlooking the paddies

» We stopped short.

The
te oa Of us at the point, jeading
ie to ays Sank to the ground, listen-
Rel in fr Splashes of a paddle twenty
ween et of us. Down a canal be-
vided ai Paddies slipped a sampan
0 ePOng a three Viet-Cong soldiers,
4 = Nd ammunition. Softly we
Suld A the radio asking if we
MVE atter the silence of our night
iol Bai Back crackled the answer.
wats,” - fire, we’re after bigger
rsing 5 € three Viet-Cong, perhaps
Way put maybe not. paddled on
2 | Shop peeved by the gods. Shrugging
battle <'S) Perfectly willing to miss

Move? WE rose uy
ah p and prepared to
Megs. gain into the leech-filled, slimy
Sloshi
i
Move. U8 and Squelching, the company

into the paddies again,
Poung » €aten alive by insects, a
h agony in long lines. In the
ang’ 2 Villa darkness we reach our ob-
ea, SPread 8€ controlled by the NLF,
Ss = ee in the paddies at the
Sea "till ae a couple of hours to
lap Chin aylight, and the proposed
a Bee supposedly sealed vil-
* Wake ers are to keep half of the
q Carrieg all the time, but they are
q . Out. Dim figures, exhausted

Tip
'N, crawl up slippery mud

aR

an 1 i on ee anne nan nape TE neE mer

United Press International

banks and dikes to get away from the
hated water. They stretch out on the
ooze, no longer feeling the stinging bites
of bugs or the soft, bloated leeches
sucking their blood. They push together
sliding mud mixed with buffalo. dung,
which fills every paddy, to make pil-
lows above the water level. Seeing noth-
ing, feeling nothing, sleep comes...

The sun is shining, our clothes are
beginning to dry a little and in our po-
sitions we are stuffing C-rations down
our throats. A race for time to eat, be-
fore the order comes to saddle up and

This article was written by an Amer-
ican GI who “got his education in Viet-
nam”; he was seriously and perma-
nently injured in combat. He is pres-
ently at Ft. Dix, New Jersey.

move out. The village has awakened,
too, and the few people moving around
who spot us seem unperturbed by our
presence. Finally, the sergeants’ cries
ring out, and slinging in our gear we
step out into the water of the last deep
canal, to enter the village.

Unlike the usual allied-controlled
village, filthy and ragged, inundated
with prostitutes, bars, and dejected,
cowering people, this Viet-Cong-con-
trolled one which we're to “liberate”
from the clutches of the enemy, 1S
clean, peaceful, and quiet. The people
lock healthier and more dignified, they
return with proud, level stares the at-
tention of the gawking GI’s. In one lit-
tle hut we find a single Viet-Cong. He
has been badly wounded in several

places, and never treated. The grotesque
scars and scabs bother us more than
him, it seems. We sling him in a nylon
poncho liner and take him with us. Past
the village, the operation through it a
failure, we advance through more pad-
dies to a dirt road running along a
river.

On the other side of ‘the narrcw
stream, is a marshy jungle area through
which the South Vietnamese army is
advancing to meet us. We file along
the dusty road, reveling in its dryness,
and in a long thin line take up posi-
tions facing the river. On the other
side, and about 50 meters away, firing

breaks out momentarily and dies away.’

At my observation post, I have two new
men with me, who are wide awake and
interested. Spotting a hootch (peasant’s
hut) behind us across the road, I tell
them I’ll be back in a little while; and
go inside. The Vietnamese are making

tea for breakfast, and give me‘a large,’

unsweetened and steaming bowl.

] thank them and smile, and sitting
on ihe mud floor smoke some marijuana
and sip the tea, not caring what’s hap-
pening outside. After I’m high, I drift
into the cooking area, and pulling out a
large can of Ham and Lima Beans, C-
Rations, demonstrate the wonders of a
stew to the family. They watch wide-
eyed as I mix the C’s with. freshly
cooked rice, heat them together and
then pass some around to everyone. No-

body likes it, except the little’ 6-year-_

old girl, but everyone is smiling and
relaxed. coh aaes

As I sit down to smoke another
sweet pipe, the mood is simultaneously
shattered by a crash of rifle and ma-
chine gun fire across the river and ex-
p.oding bombs from a sudden, nearby

airstrike. The Vietnamese family run.

into their bunker shaking, and I -hit the
dirt in the doorway with a freakish
thought that I will protect them from

’ ing.

any danger. After the terior of the ini-
tial burst of firing though, the old man
decides not to chance staying around
the battle area, and with a grab at a
few belongings and his family, deserts
this hootch for the nearby village.

I crawl back up on the road, and the
firing gets intense, with bullets crack-
ing and ricocheting off the surface.
Joining the two new men of my obser-
vation post, I crouch in the dirt, wait-

There is a firefight going across the
stream sand the Viet-Cong are being
driven towards us. At the next post
down Brackett and Darnet spot an enemy
soldier on the bank and cut him down
with aulomatic fire. Now the machine
gun’s going, and the radio operator
shouts that the A.R.V.N. have just killed
a dozen of the enemy. Clinging to the
ground with bullets whizzing around
me, I open fire on an enemy sniper
right across from us, who is hitting too
close.

At the second I cut loose with a
burst, a sampan full cf several men and
a woman suddenly shoots into view
from the dense bush at the edge of the
river. A bullet from my rifle slams
into .the woman’s head knocking her
body half into the water, trailing blood.
I stare transfixed. They are not V.C.
I don’t think they’re V.C I don*t know.
Does it matter? Was it all right? I
jerk around to the men next to me, and
demand of them; with a ferocious look,
if they'd seen anything. They shake
their heads. and look away. The man be-
hind the. dead. woman -pulls her body
back into the boat, looking neither left
nor right,-and, as I am holding back the
sickness in me, the sampan disappears
from sight.. —

Liberation News Service

PACIFIC TRIBUNE— AUGUST 1, 1969—PAGE 3

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