Extract from: Can Tho: A story of love and war, a novel
Roman wondered if the fourth try would be any better. He was tired, aching all over, and he was still breathless from the last try. Even David and Mark looked tired and Cesar was calling upon all his wrestler’s reserves just to sit up. The air was humid and the sun, now retreating, had been heavy all day. From the angle of the helicopter, Roman knew the landing was only seconds away and he instinctively looked around to see if everyone had his assigned equipment ready. Instead of easing down, the helicopter hit the ground hard, an indication that the pilot was just as tired. It quickly lifted itself off the ground slightly and Mark and David jumped out and Roman gently pushed Cesar out then followed him after a quick but profound sigh. When he hit the ground, the helicopter quickly lifted off.
By Ignacio M. García
Chapter 1
The helicopter rode the top of the forest like a surfer over the California waves. There was a small incision in the wooded area and the medevac chopper moved toward it like an arrow. Already, three other helicopters were unloading the first contingent of troops which was scattering into the forest in teams of six. Three cobras were spraying the surrounding area with their mini-guns, and their rockets crisscrossed the top of the trees before exploding on the ground. Roman eyed Cesar who was sweating profusely and looking intensely out towards the sea of trees. He noticed the other two medics, flown in from Da Nang only yesterday, were also preoccupied with the fast approaching ground.
The two, Mark Schlitzer and David Weiss, were veterans of six months in the highlands and both looked ready and capable of doing their job. Both were muscular and tall, with a deep tan that covered what were once pale white skins. Weiss was a specialist fourth class, and Schlitzer, to Roman’s,surprise was wearing corporal stripes. Medics did not usually carry stripes unless they were staff sergeants or higher. Occasionally, a medic with a combat unit that had seen a lot of action was honored with “hard” stripes, which usually brought with them added respect, if not more authority.
Mark and David, flown in the night before, were introduced to Cesar and Roman twenty minutes before the first trail run was launched. While they looked quiet and aloof, they turned out to be friendly, and talkative, and neither seemed to have resented serving under a medic whose only enemy in recent weeks had been a tough strain of gonococcus.
Though all four were given a detailed plan of the landings, the first three runs had been disastrous. The first aid stations had not been set up fast enough and the last medical tent had been blown away by a helicopter that got too close. Luckily for Roman and the other medics, the whole landing had been far from perfect and no one was singled out for special reprimand. Only the team leaders were verbally blasted and Roman happened to be among those, though Col. Burr was too concerned with the combatants to think about the medics. But Roman knew the medics had not been able to hold up their end.
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Ignacio, age 21, Specialist 5th Class, head of the 477th Medical Detachment Dispensary's emergency room in the Can Tho Army Air Base, Viet Nam. |
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| Ignacio, two years ago |
David and Mark were already at the edge of the forest when Roman heard a crackling in the air. Roman wondered why he noticed it above the other thousand rounds being fired. Then he heard it again and realized why.
“Cesar, get down, those are AK-47s being fired. Mark, David…” Roman did not finish as he hit the ground. He had learned the sound of the Czechoslovakian weapons during the tragic mercy mission. It was a sound he knew he would never forget: a hollow crackling that left an echo in the air.
The mission intelligence officers had assured the colonel that the area was safe because AVRN troops had conducted several sweeps only days before. Despite this, the colonel had ordered the Cobras and Hueys to spray the area continually during each landing to drive out any V.C. that might be left.
Tunnels. Roman was sure the V.C. had hid in tunnels and been spying on the landings, making sure the G.I.s were tired before they struck.
Cesar had heard and dove to the ground, but Mark and David were out of range and they kept running. Looking around, Roman realized he was the first, and aside from Cesar, the only one who knew what was going on. But as the crackling grew louder and more frequent, Roman, who had picked himself up to look over the tall grass, saw confused G.I.s running for cover. A couple fell and he knew this time everything was for real.
“Cesar.” By this time he was sure Mark and David knew what was going on and they had taken cover.
Cesar burst through a wall of grass and fell close by as Roman was about to call out again.
“Where are Mark and David?”
“I don’t know,” said a breathless Cesar. “When you said Ak-47s I dropped and didn’t see them afterwards. But I think they were closer to the firing than you and I.”
“I don’t think so. I’m sure the firing is coming from the right flank.”
“Some bullets whipped by me. I know that.” Cesar sat on his knees. “And they were coming from straight ahead, where Mark and David were running.”
Roman tried to look out toward the edge of the forest to get a glimpse of the other medics, but another burst from the AK-47s made him dive to the ground again.
“Medic.” Both Roman and Cesar heard the muffled call.
“You ready?” asked Roman through a half-open mouth.
“I’ll follow.” Cesar was breathing heavily next to him.
Roman took off toward the voice in a crouch to avoid sticking his head above the tall grass. He ran at full speed and his medic’s bag banged against his ribs. Blinded by the thick grass, Roman nearly tripped over a kneeling soldier. To avoid a collision, Roman attempted to sidestep him but lost his balance and went sprawling through the grass.
“Over here doc,” said the G.I.
Cesar got to the soldier before Roman.
“Medic,” said another voice.
“Take him Cesar. I’ll look for the other.” Roman ran towards the second voice.
Before he finished bandaging the soldier’s shoulder, two more cries for medics had been sounded. By this time, the M-16s were roaring in retaliation and the cobras and Hueys were angling for a furious approach. When Roman reached the third wounded soldier Cesar was already attending him and Cesar pointed to another soldier on the ground. Only his feet were visible because as the tall grass covered the rest of his body. Roman brushed the grass away but quickly looked away. The soldier’s head was split open and one eye was protruding out of its socket; his only movement was a twitch in his left hand. Besides him, another soldier was kneeling down hysterically crying and holding on to a lifeless right hand. Roman knelt down besides the weeping soldier and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Get a hold of yourself.”
“Danny, he my main man from Kansas,” cried out the muscular black soldier between hysterical sobs. “He was alright …man…he loved brothers…he was a helluva card player…he was alright man…why Charlie want to split the man’s head…what he ever do to ‘em…damn gooks…what he ever do to them yellow belly…oh my God look what they done to ‘im …Oh, man, I wanna go home…this place stinks…sticks, stinks, stinks,” he screamed. Roman grabbed a hold of the soldier’s head and pressed it to his chest.
“It’s alright man. He’s out of this hell hole,” said Roman. He felt his eyes fill up with tears. This wasn’t a day to fight or die. It was too dreary, too unmemorable, and this place too far away from home. No one would care. But the strong black man did care.
“Oh man, why they do that, man,” said the soldier with his voice trembling and his body shaking. He grabbed Roman and held on to him.
“Medic.” Roman felt annoyed, almost angry at the unknown voice.
“Hold on man, I got to go. Get yourself together.” The soldier kept sobbing and tightened his grip on Roman.
“Let go, please,” said Roman trying to unloosen the tight grip, but he couldn’t. He then whispered in the soldier’s ear. “I got to save another Danny. I can’t let him die.”
For an instant, the soldier loosened his grip and Roman quickly broke away.
“I’ll be back. Stay here and get a hold of yourself. I’ll be back.”
Suddenly, the world seemed to explode as the three cobras let go of their rockets and followed them up with one continual burst from their mini-guns. The huey gunships were right behind with their manually manned .50 caliber machine guns. The flares, which came after every third round, formed a steady stream of light that resembled a lightening streak through the thick jungle.
When Roman reached the wounded soldier, he saw Mark. He was applying a large bandage to the stomach of a screaming soldier.
“Where is David?”
“Back there” said Mark motioning with his hand.
“Is he hit?”
Mark just nodded.
“Is he dead?”
Again, he nodded.
Roman had to answer two more cries for help before he broke away to search for David. It took a while as even Mark had trouble locating the spot where the young medic fell. He found David’s twisted body next to an uprooted tree trunk. His fatigue shirt was crimson with blood, though his head was unscratched and his face seemed to have a slight smile. His face looked so serene that Roman expected him to open his eyes at any moment and smile.
“I think he took several rounds before he knew what hit him,” said Mark, who was by now seated on the tree trunk, wiping away the sweat from his forehead with his blood stained hands.
“He was a damn good medic,” continued Mark. “We were in several firefights and there was no one better to be looking after you.”
Cesar was the next one to reach the scene. Behind him came Col. Burr and Captain Cao, neither had been with the landing party.
“I’ve called in the medevac units,” said Cesar.
Roman remembered it was his duty as head medic, but he was glad Cesar had taken care of that oversight.
“Thanks Cesar.”
“How many casualties?” asked the colonel in an irritated tone. “So much for ARVN intelligence.”
Captain Cao ignored the remark and came closer to David’s body. He stared for a few seconds and then repeated the colonel’s question to Roman in a more subdued tone and without looking at Roman’s face.
“I counted twelve men hit, six of them killed instantly. One of them a medic,” said Roman, who was now feeling the exhaustion. “Two others injured in the firefight but not by enemy fire.”
The South Vietnamese’s face did not exhibit any expression as he moved over to the colonel and looked him straight in the eyes while putting his hands on his hips.
“Will you do it my way now, Colonel?”
Roman did not hear the rest. And he did not care to. He sat next to the tree trunk.
“Hey, doc,” said a sergeant who stepped out from the grass walls. “We got one soldier who’s just mumbling and has got a crazy look in his eyes. I think he needs help.”
“Thirteen,” said Roman as he got up from the ground.
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| Ignacio M. García |
Ignacio M. Garcia, a native of San Antonio, Texas, and a graduate of Sidney Lanier High School, served in Viet Nam as an army medic and headed a dispensary in the Mekong Delta. A writer and editor for Nuestro Magazine and later a war correspondent for Gannett News Service covering the war in El Salvador, he is now the Lemuel Hardison Redd, Jr. Professor of Western and Latino History at Brigham Young University. This excerpt comes from his first novel, Can Tho: A Story of Love & War, which is published in Kindle format and can be found on Amazon.com.