Body Count: A Special Forces thriller set in the Vietnam War (The Scorpion Squad Military Thrillers Book 1) Read online

  BODY COUNT

  The Scorpion Squad Military Thrillers

  Book One

  Eric Helm

  Table of Contents

  CHARACTER LIST

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  ALSO BY ERIC HELM

  GLOSSARY

  The sound of bugles…

  Within seconds, the entire west wall opened fire. The fifty and thirty caliber machine guns were doing a job on the ranks of the Viet Cong assault force…

  As the VC reached the wire and the smaller weapons began to have some effect along with the machine guns, the communist advance seemed to hesitate.

  Whirling about, he grabbed up a scope and scanned the area to the southeast of the camp. The sick feeling in his stomach solidified like molten lead cooling as he stared, not wanting to believe, at what had to be nearly a battalion of Viet Cong. “I knew it! Those bastards are going to hit both walls at once!”

  CHARACTER LIST

  THE ‘SCORPION SQUAD’ A-TEAM

  Captain Mack Gerber

  American A-Team Commander

  First Lieutenant Jonathan Bromhead

  Executive Officer

  Master Sergeant Anthony B. Fetterman

  Team Sergeant

  Sergeant First Class Ian McMillan

  Senior Medical Specialist

  Staff Sergeant Thomas Jefferson Washington

  Medical Specialist

  Staff Sergeant Sully Smith

  Demolitions Expert

  Sergeant Miles Clarke

  Demolitions Expert

  Staff Sergeant Galvin Bocker

  Communications

  Sergeant Sean Cavanaugh

  Communications

  Sergeant First Class Justin “Boom-Boom” Tyme

  Light Weapons

  Sergeant First Class Steven Kittredge

  Heavy Weapons

  Sergeant First Class Derek Kepler

  Intelligence Specialist

  LLDB (LUC-LUONG DAC-BIET) A-TEAM

  Captain Trang

  Commanding Officer

  First Lieutenant Minh

  Executive Officer

  Sergeant Hinh

  Team Sergeant

  Sergeant Tri

  Medical Specialist

  Sergeant Tam

  Medical Specialist

  Sergeant Vo

  Demolitions Specialist

  Sergeant Suong

  Demolitions Specialist

  Sergeant Lim

  Communications

  Sergeant Luong

  Communications

  Sergeant Phuoc

  Light Weapons

  Sergeant Duong

  Heavy Weapons

  Sergeant Tran

  Intelligence

  TAI TRIBESMEN

  Lieutenant Bao

  Company Commander

  Sergeant Krung

  Tai NCO

  PROLOGUE

  REPUBLIC OF VIETNAM, MEKONG RIVER DELTA,

  MAY 1964

  Sitting on the highest point in the immediate region, three men in dirty black pajamas were eating their morning breakfast of a couple of rice cakes. Nuyen Van Vinh swallowed a mouthful of water and stared at his two young companions. They hadn’t been around long enough to be annoyed at the assignment. Scout the area for government troops. There hadn’t been government troops here for fifteen years. And when there had been, those troops were French.

  By the graying of the sky in the east, Vinh knew that the sun would be up in a little while. He screwed the top back on his canteen, which had been taken from a French soldier years ago. He leaned back so that he could stare at the rapidly fading stars.

  They had patrolled into an area where there was no chance that they would see the enemy. The enemy was afraid to venture into this area. Vinh knew that he would never see a government soldier here.

  He was right. He never would.

  From somewhere came the quiet drone of a single engine airplane that sounded like the noise of an overgrown insect. Vinh sat up and searched the heavens but didn’t see anything. But the sound grew louder as the airplane came closer.

  Then, just to the north, he thought he could see it. He picked up his rifle, an old semi-automatic that had been taken from the same French soldier who had “volunteered” his canteen. Over the years, Vinh had lovingly cared for the weapon, until the bluing of the barrel was worn silver and the wooden stock shone like highly polished mahogany. He wondered if he should shoot at the airplane. No one had told him what to do if they saw one.

  The two youngsters were yelling excitedly and gesturing at the sky. Vinh shrugged, as if to tell them that he didn’t really care what they did. He had been fighting for too long to get excited about one airplane, especially a tiny propeller-driven one.

  The airplane passed overhead once, turned, flew over again, turned, and dumped the nose. There were two bright flashes under the wings and a second later the ground near them exploded into flames.

  Vinh dived down, rolling to his stomach. To his right, he could see the body of one of the young men. His clothing was on fire, but he wasn’t moving. Vinh knew he was dead.

  Suddenly, from the east, came the roar of jet engines. As they dived for the hilltop where he lay concealed in the tall, thick grass, Vinh wondered how they had spotted him. Then he wondered why they would waste all that effort to kill him.

  It was his last living thought.

  The ground under him erupted and burst into flames as the first of the large napalm canisters hit. They were followed closely by others, and the four American jets began the process of clearing the top of the hill for the Green Beret camp that would be built.

  The pilots never knew they had killed the first three of many who would die on that hill.

  CHAPTER 1

  REPUBLIC OF VIETNAM, THE MEKONG RIVER DELTA,

  MAY 1964

  One morning there was nothing but occasional clumps of elephant grass and patches of tangled jungle scattered among the rice paddies and never-ending swamp south of the Parrot’s Beak.

  And Charlie.

  The next morning there were three hundred sweating, groaning men and two large, bright yellow D-9 Caterpillar tractors busily chopping, chain-sawing, and bulldozing, a steadily growing circle of more or less level terrain from the top of a large, low hill that nevertheless remained the highest point in the surrounding countryside.

  The air force had started the clearing operation at dawn with a mixed load of high-explosive bombs and napalm. With luck, the men would finish the clearing in two days’ time and get on with the more important task of building, which had already begun in a primitive way with the two platoons of men who were filling and stacking sandbags.

  U.S. Army Special Forces Captain Mack Gerber paused from his labors to wipe the perspiration from his forehead and survey the activity going on around him. He couldn’t suppress a thin smile.

  “Surprise, Charlie. You don’t own the delta anymore.”

  “How’s that sir?” asked a voice from behind him.

/>   Gerber’s executive officer, First Lieutenant Jonathan Bromhead, had come up the hill while Gerber was studying the broad flood plain, which stretched away to a series of low hills that more or less marked the Cambodian side of the border. Bromhead’s dark green jungle fatigues were almost black with sweat. He was as thoroughly soaked as if he had been caught in a rainstorm. He eased his pistol belt and harness to the ground, pulled what was probably the only dry piece of cloth in the whole camp out of the combat pack attached to his pistol belt, and began wiping imaginary moisture off his heavy M-14 rifle.

  “I was thinking how pissed off old Victor Charlie must have been when he woke up this morning and found out we’d decided to set up shop in his backyard.”

  Bromhead was suddenly serious. “You think the VC already know we’re here, sir?”

  Gerber smiled down at the freckle-faced young lieutenant who had not yet seen his twenty-third birthday. “This whole area has been a Viet Cong stronghold and sanctuary ever since the French paras and Legionnaires left Indochina in 1954. I think it’s safe to assume that precious little goes on around here that Charlie doesn’t know about. Besides, the flyboys weren’t exactly gentle when they played reveille this morning.”

  Bromhead looked at Gerber sheepishly. “I see what you mean, sir. How much time do you figure we’ve got before Charlie starts taking an unhealthy interest in us?”

  “We’re probably under observation right now. I would think we’ve got between maybe three or four days and say a week at the outside before the VC can get their act together and organize a large enough force to really hit this place, but they aren’t going to let any grass grow under their feet… Time is our ally, not Charlie’s, and he knows it. The longer he waits, the stronger we get. Right now, a couple of good companies could push us off this hill. In a couple of days, we’ll be able to hold off a regiment. He knows it, and we know it. The only question is which of us will be ready first.” He paused, then added: “Was there something particular you wanted to talk about, Johnny?”

  “Nothing important, sir,” said Bromhead, getting to his feet and picking up his equipment. “I think I’ll go see how Sergeant Kepler and his crew are coming along with the barbed wire.”

  “Good idea. Tell Derek I want two barriers of concertina around the whole compound by dusk, then find Sergeant Smith and tell him I want a ring of claymores between the wires by 1800 hours. Tell Sully to get Sergeant Clarke to help him if he needs it. And find Sergeant Schattschneider and tell him to start setting some trip flares up just inside the outer ring. Tell him to ask Lieutenant Minh to detail a couple of his men to help him. And Johnny, tell Sergeant Schattschneider to be sure and ask politely when he talks to Lieutenant Minh, okay?”

  Bromhead grinned broadly. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell him to be sure and say please and thank you.”

  “One more thing. I want a team meeting at 1830. After that, I want everybody to stand-to until one half hour after dark. There’s no sense in having people wandering around the compound at dusk, providing an easy target for some smart VC sniper.”

  “Does that include the strike force, sir?”

  “That includes everybody, Lieutenant. Especially the strike force. The Tais won’t be any trouble. They’re good troops and will do the right thing if you explain it to them. I’ll speak to Captain Trang about our esteemed Vietnamese allies.”

  “Right sir.”

  Bromhead trotted off to his assigned tasks, and Gerber wearily trudged toward the main section of the camp where he could see his Vietnamese counterpart, Captain Trang, reposing comfortably in a folding canvas chair beneath a gaily striped parachute canopy awning, sipping at a tall glass of iced tea and reading a French novel.

  “What a war,” muttered Gerber to himself. “I wonder where the little crook got the ice?”

  Captain Trang was typical of many Vietnamese officers in the Luc-Luong Dac-Biet, the Vietnamese Special Forces. The LLDB captain had obtained his commission through political connections with the powerful Roman Catholic Ngo family, which had ruled South Vietnam from 1955, after the departure of the French colonial government, until the recent coup headed by General Duong Van Minh. Under President Ngo Dinh Diem, nearly all officers in the Vietnamese army, navy, and air force had been political appointees, and the LLDB had been an elite unit, used primarily by Diem as a palace guard and as terrorist police.

  Diem had allied the LLDB with the U.S. Special Forces advisers in order to get the best equipment and training. As a result of the insistence by the American advisers, the LLDB had been forced to assume a greater role in counterinsurgency operations against the communist Viet Cong. Most were careful to send only their junior officers and NCOs out on patrols, which always ran the risk of being shot up by VC ambushes. It wasn’t that they were cowards, exactly. They simply considered themselves too valuable to the Saigon government to put their own lives in unnecessary jeopardy. Many of them were financial opportunists as well. While some made big money in drugs or prostitution, most simply took advantage of kickbacks on government contracts and occasionally dabbled in Saigon’s thriving black market. They did not view themselves as corrupt officers, merely as successful businessmen.

  I guess maybe Trang really isn’t so different from some of the minor politicians and bureaucrats in the New York or Chicago political machines back home, Gerber mused as he approached the rotund little captain. I’ll give him this much. He’s got real political savvy. He came through the coup smelling like a rose.

  “May I speak with you a moment, Captain Trang?” said Gerber when he was within hearing distance of the Vietnamese officer.

  Trang ignored him until he had walked up to the edge of the awning, then carefully folded the book in his hand and lowered it into his lap. He did not rise from the chair. “Of course, Captain. My time is your time. What may I do for you?”

  “Sir,” began Gerber, “experience has taught us that the men fight better in combat when they are led by their commanders, and they work harder when their commanders lead them in their work. As your advisor, it is my duty to call this to your attention.”

  “What you say may be true of Americans, Captain,” said Trang, unperturbed, “but in the Vietnamese army, an officer directs the actions of his men, whether in combat or in work. From this vantage point I can see all the work in camp. It is from here much easier to see all work being done and all that is needing to be done. I can therefore more effectively direct activities of all men under my command.”

  Gerber shrugged inwardly at the Vietnamese logic. “Yes. I see your point, Captain. I wanted to talk to you about the necessity of having all troops on alert after 1800 hours.”

  Trang made a dismissive gesture. “Men all tired. All my men, they work very hard today under much sun. Tonight, they must rest. Work hard again tomorrow.”

  “But our camp is a long way from being secure. If the Viet Cong attack us tonight, and no one is on alert, we could lose the camp and many men.”

  “VC not attack,” Trang insisted. “VC not attack anything in this whole area for maybe five, maybe six years. Maybe longer. This is silly place to build base. Any VC here don’t like much fight. They all pacified VC.” Trang smiled at his joke.

  “Both you and I know that the only pacified VC are dead VC, Captain,” Gerber continued. “And the only reason there haven’t been any attacks by the VC in this area is because there haven’t been any government troops here for them to attack, until now. Now we are here, and the VC will attack us. We should keep half the men on alert until midnight, and then full alert until dawn. That way the VC cannot surprise us. Also, everyone should be in position, ready to fight, from half an hour before dark until half an hour after. That way no one makes an easy target for some VC sniper who could shoot a few men and then slip away before we could get a patrol out to deal with him.”

  Trang sighed, put away his book, and got up. “VC will not attack us here. VC do not wish to fight here. Besides, we have the high ground. If you will excuse
me, I must go now and check on the progress of Sergeant Hinh and his men, who are building our team bunker.”

  Gerber followed the Vietnamese captain away from his circus tent, protesting the necessity of his plan. They had gone less than twenty meters when Gerber heard a dull plop to the northwest of the camp, followed twenty seconds later by a rattling whine.

  “Incoming!” Gerber yelled at the top of his lungs and pitched forward onto the ground. His warning was followed by a shattering explosion. A few seconds later, there was another rattling whir, followed by an explosion, and then, about five seconds after that, a third. Then all was silent.

  “Just harassing fire,” said Gerber, getting slowly to his feet. “They just want to let us know that they know we’re here.” He stared at a suddenly ashen-faced Captain Trang, who was staring at the top of the hill where his colorful sunshade had been only moments before. The first of the incoming VC 60mm mortar rounds had landed precisely in the center of the orange and white canopy, utterly destroying it. Of Captain Trang’s folding chair, French novel, and iced tea glass, there was no trace.

  “Looks like you were mistaken about the VC not attacking, Captain,” said Gerber, doing his best to suppress a smile.

  Trang ignored the barb. “All men will stand-to one half hour before sunset until one half hour after. I will consider what you say about keeping my men on alert tonight. Now, I must go check with Sergeant Hinh.”

  Gerber thought it was nothing short of amazing how Trang’s English improved when he was too excited to play the role of the dumb Army of the Republic Vietnam captain. His understanding of military tactics seemed to improve dramatically under stress too.