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Lieutenant Thacker entered the bunker, carrying his M16 in one hand and an AN/PRC-77 FM radio in the other.34
“Where in the formation are you going to be, Brian? We’ll move with you,” Frank said.
“I’m not going. I’m going to stay here and call artillery fire to cover your escape. The artillery should hold them long enough for you to get some distance. When I think it’s held them long enough, I’ll take off after you.”
Everyone just looked at this young man. Finally Lieutenant Guidone stepped forward and shook his hand. “Thanks, Brian.” As Lieutenant Zuccardi and Bellem walked out of the bunker, they shook his hand as well. They all knew the sacrifice he was making for them.
Outside, Sergeant Stokes was squatting next to the gate leading through the wire. The ARVN company was rapidly moving through the wire in an orderly fashion. Each man had his weapon and equipment. Some semblance of a military formation was evident. As the last ARVN passed Sergeant Stokes, he motioned for the seven crew members to follow him, and they started out in a trail formation, one behind the other. Only Lieutanant Zuccardi, Guidone and Bellem carried personal sidearms which were .38 caliber pistols; about as worthless as a pea shooter. All the M16 ammo had been used so no one bothered to carry one. The M-60 machine guns from the aircraft were out of ammo too. As they moved down the hill into the jungle, towards Firebase Five, the first of the incoming artillery could be heard where the command bunker had been, a wall of steel impacting across the overrun firebase. Everyone wondered if it would be enough to keep the NVA at bay.35
With artillery impacting behind the column, they moved rapidly down the hill from the firebase to the jungle. Everyone was able to keep up, with Frank and Jim close to Sergeant Stokes and Gordon bringing up the rear. As they moved, frequent stops and changes in direction were necessary as the lead elements of the ARVN company were constantly running into enemy forces, sometimes successfully avoiding ambushes and sometimes not so successfully. Each change in direction was hastily executed but generally in the direction of Firebase Five.
“How far is it to Firebase Five, Sergeant?” Specialist Jarboe asked.
Sergeant Stokes looked up at Jarboe. “It’s a long ways.” Stokes was tired. It had been a long night and a longer day for him. The speed of movement was based on two major factors: the enemy contacts and the ruggedness of the terrain. Both were impeding their progress, and now the NVA had started dropping mortar rounds on the fleeing column, which produced tree shrapnel that could be as deadly as being hit by the metal from the round. Everyone was attempting to maintain some level of noise discipline as they moved, but eighty ARVN soldiers and fourteen US soldiers weren’t the quietest group. Add to that the screeches of the monkeys that felt threatened by the incursion of humans into their domain, and it became obvious where the unit was moving towards. After a couple of hours, tragedy struck. NVA mortars were becoming more focused on the location of the column. The dense jungle canopy caused the rounds to detonate high in the trees, turning tree limbs into deadly wooden shrapnel. With each burst, everyone dove for whatever cover they could find to crawl under. Sometimes the only thing to do was prostrate oneself on the ground and pray.
“Ahhhh, ahhhh, oh God!” Patterson screamed, scaring the crap out of everyone, moments after a round impacted in the top of a tree. He was lying on the ground and thrashing about.
Lieutenant Guidone was the first to get to him. “What happened?”
Patterson could barely talk he was in such pain. That was when Tonjes noticed blood on the seat of Patterson’s pants. Gently rolling Patterson over on to his stomach, Frank cut his pants open to expose his buttock. Patterson had been impaled by tree shrapnel across his butt, and one large piece had been driven straight into his rectum. The level of pain must have been intense. Looking about, everyone realized that Patterson was not going to be able to walk with that stake sticking in him, but they feared that taking the stake out would cause excessive bleeding. The decision was quickly made that they would take turns carrying Patterson. There was no thought of leaving him. Picking Patterson up, the group moved out, following the ARVN company. With each step, Patterson felt the stake but struggled not to cry out for fear of giving away their position.
They continued as best they could but fell further behind the ARVN company and eventually lost contact with the company. At one point, Sergeant Stokes raised his hand. He’d heard something. Everyone immediately took a knee and pointed outward. They were recalling the infantry small-unit tactics they’d all learned in their basic training. They remained still, listening and looking.
“Did you hear that?” Sergeant Stokes asked Lieutenant Guidone in a whisper.
“Hear what?” Guidone whispered back.
A telephone was ringing very close by. Then a voice answered in Vietnamese. The NVA soldier was about twenty feet away, in an underground bunker. Guidone looked down and noticed he was kneeling on a telephone wire running to the bunker.
“Yeah, I hear him, and it doesn’t sound like he’s ordering a pizza. Let’s get the hell out of here.” Guidone motioned for everyone to move quietly away from the bunker.
As they continued to move, the vegetation thinned to small trees randomly dispersed. After another hour of moving, halting for the occasional break and to switch who was carrying Patterson, everyone heard the welcome sound and looked skyward as a Cobra gunship flew over, immediately banked hard and turned around. They prayed he had seen them, but also that he hadn’t mistaken them for NVA. This could be good or it could be bad.
Making a second pass over the group, the Cobra rocked left and right several times to indicate he recognized them. Suddenly, a deep sense of hope rose in each of them. They knew the Cobra would report their position and provide some cover for them as they continued to move towards friendly forces. The occasional small-arms fire in what they figured was the vicinity of the ARVN formation told them that the NVA were still in the area. The intensity of the fire was nothing compared to what they’d experienced on the firebase, however. Artillery could still be heard impacting back on Firebase Six.
The group continued to move forward. The sound of more helicopters could be heard in the distance as the group came upon a small clearing. Sergeant Stokes was carrying a AN/PRC-77 FM radio and had it on the Gambler frequency when a lone aircraft was seen overhead at about two thousand feet. His radio crackled.
“Gambler Four-One, Gambler Six, over.”
“Gambler Six, Gambler Four-One India, over,” Sergeant Stokes responded.
“Gambler Four-One India, put Four-One on, over.”
“Gambler Six, no can do. Four-One actual is up ahead and separated from us. He is on point. Over.”
“Roger, Four-One India.” You could hear the sadness in the senior advisor’s voice. “Four-One India, how many Uniform Sierra do you have with you? Over.”
“Gambler Six, I have eight. I say again, I have eight. One is badly Whiskey India Alpha. over.”
“Roger, understood one Whiskey India Alpha, correct?”
“Gambler Six, affirmative.”
; “Four-One India, can he walk?”
“Gambler Six, negative.”
