Insertion Into A Hot Landing Zone VN

Insertion In a Hot Landing Zone VN

(C) James J Alonzo

The 2/17 Calvary Unit of the 101 rst Airborne Division, our squadron was to be inserted about ten klicks (kilometers) north of Tay Ninh near the Cambodian border, not far from the well known Ho Chi Minh trail. It was to be a dusk or early night insertion. 

Days earlier, there was a bombing mission we called 'Rolling Thunder'. Rolling Thunder earned it name because the bombers dropped bombs from an altitude of 30,000, and most of the time one couldn't see the planes, just hear what sounded like rolling thunder. These are B-52 bombers, huge Strato-fortresses, with huge payloads of bombs used in mass or carpet bombing. They had bombed the area of operations, the VC used to transport ammunition and supplies to their forward troops and the Viet Cong guerillas.

 A, B, HQ troops were being inserted by C Troop, which was the aviation helicopter unit, that had both Huey choppers, and a few Chinooks. We were also accompanied by Huey gun ships, which are heavily armed with rockets and mini machine guns. 

Being a squad leader, the chopper crew chief, with radio headphone, and helmet, leaned over and shouted in my ear,

"The fucking LZ is hot!""

I signaled that I understood by giving a thumbs up. I looked over at my buddy, J J Jackson who was also our squad M-60 machine gunner, and could see his look of curiosity,'what's up?' I shook my head, and signaled the LZ was hot! That meant that we would be drawing enemy small arms fire immediately upon the enemy seeing us landing. 

As I sat in the chopper that was taking us to our drop zone, besides the fear, I could feel the soothing vibration the helicopter jet motor, and of the wind turbulence as the echos of the blades hammered the dense humidified air.

All the members of the chopper crew were radio equipped. Now hearing about the hot LZ, the Huey chopper's left door gunner, named Domenic, motioned us to stay well behind him as he maneuvered the gun from side to side to check his firing radius.

Though the LZ is miles away it would take the chopper less than fifteen minutes of air time to reach the LZ, and Domenic wanted to be ready. For a hot LZ was the most dangerous to the choppers and the crew, since they were the biggest target. 

My squad members were checking their weapons and ammo one last time when we saw tracers coming from the jungle below. You could hear the sound of bullet impacts and penetration against the Huey's fiber glass skin. It was shear terror being shot at while in the air, no where to hide! The chopper took evasive maneuver, whale the door gunners laid grazing fire to keep the enemy down! The gun ships followed riddling the LZ with massive amounts of rocket and bullet fire!

Lucky for us it was AK-47 rifle fire and we were quickly out of range from the bullets that riddled the Huey. Being dropped in to a hot LZ at dark is even more frightening. Weapons fire comes from all directions and it causes much confusion. It is only when your feet hit the ground that you realize what hell must be like and it is thrust on you from the start.

These missions are planned by mental midgets! The planners for this insertion decided they wanted a good size LZ, so these geniuses decided to make it larger. The planners ordered the LZ to be enlarged and cleared by a 750 lb. Bomb called a 'daisy cutter' days before the mission. 

So it was no surprise that the communists were waiting for us. As we came down in the landing zone there was very little in protection from ground fire coming from the jungles covered edges. Domenic as he was firing grazing fire (suppression) while we landed, was hit and killed before we could get out the Huey! The crew chief jumped in on the with the dead Domenic at his feet and shouted, 
 
"Get the fuck out!" and continued laying grazing fire at the jungle tree line!

As each chopper landed the soldiers bailed out with their equipment. As our chopper skids touched down, we bailed out into the mud dragging the ammo boxes that would be needed to hold the position.

Other soldiers fanned out setting up a parameter and grazing fire, to cover us from enemy fire while we raced to the nearest cover. Green Tracer bullets could be seen coming from the jungle and we had a good idea where the enemy was. Tracer bullets can give your position away and we were going to use it to our benefit. Luckily we had set up in a 1,000 bomb blast hole that provided us with adequate cover and we started radioing to get fire support.

Under the cover of night, rolling around in the mud, you could hear the enemy screams and explosions as the artillery and gun ship fire took some of the life of the enemy. We had dropped right in to the middle of a battalion size unit of VC. They were coming from the bombed trail routes in the mountains. 

Someone shouted out, above the heavy gun fire, to the platoon Sargent,
" We should have brought more ammo!"

"It won't matter," replied the platoon Sargent Scott, "we're  outnumbered!" 

I laid back against the mud wall of the blast hole and tried to take a deep breath. I had found it difficult to catch my breath with all the chaos going on around us. 

('Come on Alonzo, concentrate our lives depend on our ability to hold this piece of shit hell hole!')

Our soldiers were fanned out in all directions, some had patrolled out to set claymore (anti personell) mines on our weak sides to shield us from the Viet Cong trying to flank our position.
 
(Claymores are chaos when they are set off. The explosions are similar to a small bomb going off sending out hundreds of ball bearings in a fanned out direction. If there are survivors you will know it because of their screams, and because they are usually maimed beyond repair. I still wake up at night from nightmares of the gore I witnessed.)

The VC mortar fire was sporadic and hit all around us during the night. Mud clods fell from the sky down on to us from the blast but luckily we escaped injury. Some of the others were not as lucky. We lost two guys to enemy mortar fire that night.

J J had taken a piece of shrapnel through his meaty part of his shoulder, trying to retrieve Frank Malloy. It wasn't too hard to lift Frank because he had his legs blown off. However Frank died shortly after J J made it back in to the hole with him. I bandaged J J's flesh wound, smiling at him, I asked, 

"You trying to get a Purple Heart with this self inflicted wound?"

"I already have a self inflicted wound," J J laughed, "It's on my ass from hanging with you."

The RTO (radio operator) had called in fire missions for artillery support all during the night. You could hear the rounds whistling over head as they hit their mark. There was one M-60, 7.65 cal machine gun placement about a hundred yards to our forward position had held the enemy off for the rest of the night. J J took position with his M-60 facing the rear. 

At base camp before we were lifted to this LZ, we had been ordered to take the tracer rounds out of the M-60 machine feed belts. The Viet Cong could still see the muzzle flash in the distance but it was harder for the VC to pin point from the jungle.

By the time day light was breaking it was all quiet, and the rust smell of blood, the smell of cordite smoke and death all around us I crawled to the top of the hole to pear out. The surroundings littered with dead VC and half destroyed trees. 

A few of the guys were standing around in the blast holes pointing to different directions of the most heaviest fire that happened that night. No shots were fired any more that day and the dead count was heavy for the enemy. Sixty three VIet Cong (KIA's) killed in the fire fight that night and beside our wounded, we had lost six soldiers. 

We gathered our dead, putting them in body bags, placing them respectfully to the rear of our position. When the relief choppers arrive the dead would be lifted out first, then our wounded for Medevac and then us. Another senseless battle for land we give back the next day never did make sense. 

The lieutenant and first Sargent had placed one of the dead soldier's two dog tags in their pockets and tied the spare into to the dead soldier's boot lace. There were times like this I wished I could take the time to cry. Allow my tears to fall for my fallen comrades. 

In the far off distance you could hear the Huey helicopters coming in at tree top level. Choppers  coming to carry us from this Hellhole. You could see a feeling of relief seemingly to cover the faces of our surviving soldiers as the first Chopper landed.

How does a soldier in combat describe the horrors of battle to one who was not in combat? It cuts and scars you, and plants emotions, stress, and visions, you'll carry with you all the days of your life. These you carry for being both the hunter and the hunted, and stays in to your soul.

To experience the hazards of being a combat soldier, I will never forget. If there is a heaven, I will have to account for my sins against humanity. God forgive me for the lives I have taken over there.
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