Newly arrived in country, Captain Ed Skillman is on his first venture into the Mekong Delta countryside:
“With the canal network so interconnected across the province, Ramsey, what’s the big deal over one bridge out?”
Ramsey leaned forward from the backseat. “The bridge connects the fishing village by road with the district town. The frustration is that the people in Cau Ngang have a hard time getting fish to the inland marketplace. When the bridge is out, the fishermen have to work their way to market by canal, which is a hassle and wastes a lot of time. Plus it demonstrates the government’s inability to provide security for the people.” Ramsey turned to the driver. “We’re going to Cau Ngang, soldier. Turn off at the next left… There by the road markers.”
Ramsey never tried to learn the Vietnamese names. He just called every one of them “soldier.” With his twinkling blue eyes and that boyish smile, no one ever seemed to mind that their name was not used. It did not occur to them that “soldier” was anything but a term of friendship. They might have been surprised to learn that Captain Hartmann had not a clue as to any of their names.
The driver slowed for the turn. The side road was dirt, but it was well engineered. The quality of road nets in Vietnam was one of the supporting factors in the decision by U.S. to take its stand in this part of Indochina. Between Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, Vietnam was believed to have the best road network.
Cau Ngang was about two kilometers down the road running between rice paddies. The paddies were lightly flooded. It was just enough mud to make it easy for the farmers to plant. And they formed the quintessential scene of the Orient: the rice farmer in conical hat and black pajamas rolled up above his knees, ankle deep in muddy water, placing rice plants in rows beside the paddy dike.
The jeep pulled through the district town to the far side of the marketplace and stopped at the small villa with the Vietnamese flag on a pole in front. Ramsey jumped out from the backseat and motioned for me to follow.
“You always want to check through the local chief before you go into his area—an international courtesy—but you’d be surprised at how many people don't seem to honor that.”
A small, weathered Vietnamese in uniform stepped out onto the porch of the villa. He smiled at Ramsey. “Chau, Daui.” Hello, Captain.
“Chau, Chief. Got someone here I want you to meet. This is our new civil guard advisor, Captain Skillman.”
After brief introductions Ramsey began asking questions about the incident that occurred the night before last. He learned that the three-man outpost had in fact, been overrun by the VC. Seemed the defenders fled before being captured. The bridge was damaged, but the chief had been able to get it temporarily repaired the next day.
“Is OK today, but need more long time repair pretty soon.”
Ramsey asked, “Are the defenders back on site?”
The chief nodded. “Yes.”
“Was any artillery used?”
“No. Post have no radio.”
Ramsey frowned but said nothing. He turned to me. “Let’s go see what it looks like. You want to come with us, Chief?”
The chief smiled nervously, “I there all day yesterday. I catch up here.”
Ramsey hopped into the back of the jeep as I slid into the right front. “Head out on the river road, soldier.”
As the jeep broke out of the tree line at the edge of the district town, we could see the next village about five hundred meters in the distance.
Ramsey leaned forward from the backseat. “Not using the artillery is a problem. Something you can take a look at in your job. Your counterpart should be able to get a radio net down here. Training the troops to use artillery is not that hard, assuming they have reasonable intelligence.”
The driver slowed down as we entered the next settlement of thatched houses. A group of children stopped their play as the jeep passed by. They shouted and waved from behind a fenced-in dirt yard that had not one blade of green anything in it. The driver hustled on through town and back into the countryside. The next hamlet looked to be another half kilometer down the road.
Just as the jeep approached the hamlet, the road curved to the right along the edge of the tree line and, after thirty meters or so, curved back to the left and into the town. The settlement consisted of half a dozen thatched houses and one small stucco building that was some sort of community house. No need to stop. There were no children around and the adults all seemed to be out in the fields. About fifty yards out of the village, however, the driver did stop—suddenly.
A light tree branch stretched out across the road. Zim just stared.
“OK. Hold the phone here,” said Ramsey.
At that moment I heard a crisp staccato sound. In one fluid movement Ramsey went over the side of the jeep into the ditch. Soldier Zim dropped out of his seat and down beside the jeep. I heard a second and third CRACK and a couple of THUMP sounds, and the Fort Benning rifle range flashed into mind. I watched the dust kick up in little puffs, and it dawned on me: someone was … holy shit … they’re firing at me.
How could that be? I’m a nice guy. I’m here to help. More dust spouts. A stop action moment …
If I could have just jumped up three feet, everything would have all gone under me …
Ramsey's shout broke the spell. “Get your ass down, Skillman.” I hit the dirt and rolled into the ditch next to Ramsey.
My mind was out of body. Here I was … Knight errant to the Court of Camelot, on assignment for a just and noble cause, and those sumbitches were shooting at me—and what’s more—they made me muddy up my fricken fatigues.
