I changed my mind about the articles, Maybe I will send them later. Instead I am sending a short story that I wrote over thirty years ago and that ultimately became the book. I included it in the body of the book with the characters changed to match the book.
Enjoy
Dreams of Death
By
Everett Ede
1900 hours Sunday evening, Khe Sanh, Viet Nam. The beginning of another duty day for ND3 team five, a group of eight to fifteen men who have all completed Sea Air and Land training at Coronado beach, California. The number fluctuates from eight to fifteen because not everyone will come back into the perimeter tomorrow morning. The standard procedure for a duty day is to rendezvous at bunker 1400 for a briefing session for another night of fun and frolic. A sarcastic euphemism for night harassment patrols.
It's mid September but the temperature is in excess of 100 degrees, the humidity hovers at 89% and it won't be cooling off soon. There is a faint red cloud from the dust being kicked up by the men as they walk along the red dirt path to the briefing.
Ralph Eagle is one of those men. Ralph is a full blooded Navajo Indian, one of the few remaining in the world today. Ralph has been a member of the United States Navy for seven years and has been a SEAL for two of those years. He was assigned to the SEAL’s through the EOD indoctrination program in 1966, which was established to reduce the washout rate of qualified EOD members from the full SEAL training program.
He is 5'8" tall and weighs 175 lbs. Not a large man by any definition but not a man that you would want to tangle with since he has a black belt in Tae-Kwan-do and is practiced in the combat skills indicative of a Navy SEAL.
His brown complexion and round face are common to his race, but his dark eyes must have come from his name sake for they are every bit as piercing as the Eagle but they are a little hard to see behind his ubiquitous sunglasses.
His mother and father are no longer living and he has no other blood relatives that he knows of. He is a real loner by nature but a dedicated team member. By definition this is a contradiction but it is not an uncommon occurrence among the men assigned to Naval Detachment three.
As he walks slowly down the path as he has done every night for the past eight months he thinks about the grey dust that he would be making if he was back home in Taos, New Mexico. It's kind of funny how you start thinking of a place like Taos as home when you were so anxious to leave it when you grew up. But when you end up in a place like this almost anyplace on earth would seem like home.
Walking up to a wooden bench outside the bunker Ralph sits down beside Larry Lau one of the members of ND3.
"I think I'll take the night off." Ralph says
"Me too." His friend replies.
"No I mean it I have a bad feeling about tonight." It is a little tough to tell when Ralph is serious and when he's joking since he has a reputation for clowning and always has a deadpan expression on his face.
"Yeah. Right." Larry protects himself from the impending joke.
"No Man. I had a dream today. We are going to run into some bad shit out there tonight and I don't want to go." Ralph is serious. He remembers the elders from his tribe talking about hearing from the spirits before a great battle and even though he has tried to separate himself from that old Indian kind of thinking he still believes in premonitions. He should, after all it has been those premonitions that have saved him from disaster many times in the past. And he believes that this is one of those premonitions.
Larry is looking at his buddy and trying to decide whether to do anything about it when Chief Petty Officer Thaddeus H. Johnson walks past them and into the bunker.
"Let's go gentlemen." He says as he passes.
"Where are we going?" Larry asks, but the chief is already inside and wouldn't appreciate the humor anyway.
Once inside the two men sit down along the metal bench that has been built around the perimeter of the Quonset hut and then lean back against the piles of sandbags that follow the same route. The rest of the team is already seated on the bench or on the floor. Tonight there are thirteen of them, thirteen men waiting for instructions that could send them to their death. Thirteen. Not a good number. Ralph thinks to himself.
"Close the door Holcomb." The big black man at the front of the room commands. Chief Johnson has been a SEAL for about as long as there have been SEAL's and he is a man that you listen to, not just because he is the chief but because what he knows can keep you alive. The door closes with a metal clang and each man watches as it does so because this is the first time that it has been closed for a briefing. Each man turns and watches intently as the chief begins to speak.
"Gentlemen, we are going to go out for a little while this time. There is an Air Force recon aircraft down in Laos and we are going to go take care of it and bring out the crew."
"Oh Shit!" Is all Ralph say's, and his thoughts return to his premonition of doom. Laos. This is not good.
"Crawford. You and Eagle get a couple of satchel charges each and meet us at the number four pad."
Great! I thought that EOD guys were supposed to sit around on an aircraft carrier and wait for some unexploded ordnance that needs to be pushed over the side. Now I have to carry forty extra pounds into the fuckin' bushes to blow up some stupid airplane. Ralph thinks to himself as he is gets more worried with every passing thought.
"The rest of you men get two days extra rations. Lau you and Bufton take EOD's packs. Any questions? Ok let's go."
After picking up two forty pound satchel charges the Two Explosive Ordnance Disposal qualified SEAL's pack them into carry bags, throw them onto their backs and walk across the parking ramp on the West apron where a "CH-47 Chinook" is waiting, its double set of blades already turning.
The men walk onto the concrete apron that has been baking in the midday heat long enough to burn the soles of their feet right through the rubber and steel of their jungle style combat boots. Each man in turn reaches up and holds onto the soft brim jungle hat to keep it from blowing away under the prop wash of the big helicopter. As they reach it they shift their packs off of one shoulder at a time and onto its deck and then walk up the ramp into the belly of the aircraft.
Once on board the ramp closes behind them but the chopper doesn't move. Then the chief speaks. "OK gentlemen. Listen up. I've got a five minute briefing before this bird takes off and drowns me out. We got word about an hour ago that this bird is an Air Force EB-66 and there is a lot of classified equipment on it along with three top level crew members. We have to get them out of there before Charlie or some regulars get them. Then we have to destroy the aircraft. Are there any questions? Good!" He says without waiting to see if there are any. Then picking up the headphones on the forward bulkhead and holding one to his right ear while speaking into the attached microphone he says. "Let's go." And the big green bird lifts off.
Viet Nam is not a large country and Laos is even smaller so the trip from Khe Sanh to the border only takes twenty minutes. The chopper dropes into a clearing in the sparse trees on the top of a ridge that is reminiscent of the pine forests of northern Arizona. The helicopter rests on its big landing gear and everyone deploys out of its two side doors. Carrying their assigned baggage and an M-16 apiece Ralph and Chris Crawford run to the nearest cover and wait for the command to move out.
The sun is twenty minutes gone and there is no moon yet but the open country side seems like a cloud darkened day. The chief waits for the chopper to get out of sound range and for everyone's eyes to adjust to the dark before giving the signal to move down the hill on the east side and into the brush of a forbidden country. Laos.
According to United States Policy Laos is not an enemy country and as such sends no troops across its borders. What explanation will be given for this intrusion if it is discovered is anybody's guess. Like burglars in the night the thirteen men wined their way down the hillside to a small trail that continues down the hill and into the forest. For the next eight hours they follow their leader toward the objective.
As the sky starts to lighten from the rising sun the chief stops and signals everyone into a group.
"Everyone get off of the trail and find some cover in sight of each other. Holcomb, you and Lau take point and trail positions for three hours and then Roberts and Green and after that Jones and McGinnis. Got it?"
"Yes sir." Come the varied responses.
"Eagle, I want you on this side of the trail and Crawford on that side. I need at least one of you to make it to the target." His comment is not reassuring Ralph at all.
Walking off the trail about ten yards Ralph finds a tree large enough for cover and begins his ritual of looking for snakes. Being from a place where the diamond back is plentiful should make him used to the things but he never did like them, and over here there are two kinds to worry about; the Cobra and the deadly little Krait or "step and a half" as it is called since that is how long you have to live after it bites you. Satisfied that there are none in his tree he climbs up into the crotch of a limb, laying back against the trunk and holding his M-16 across his chest where he can get to it in a hurry he closes his eyes and feigns the sleep that he knows won't come.
The sun is nearly at its apex before Ralph decides to come down for a more comfortable place to lie down. As he climbs to the forest floor he hears distant voices. The language is unintelligible so he can't tell if it is Viet or Lao. Come to think of it he wouldn't know the difference any way, his knowledge of Vietnamese is limited to commands and warnings and he has not had a desire to learn anymore than he learned in the language briefing that he got at Da Nang when he shipped in.
The voices are getting louder now and they seem to be headed toward him. Just as he is checking his weapon Rufus crouches down beside him.
"Chief says no shooting. Just stay still and let them pass." He delivers his message and scoots off to tell the next man.
Ralph can see Lau ahead of him and behind a small tree with the muzzle of his weapon over his head ready for action.
The voices come nearer. There seems to be a lot of them and they don't seem concerned about the possibility of our existence because they are not being at all quiet. Closer now. They don't seem to be on the trail. They are going to walk right through where the team is hiding!
Ralph can see them now. First one then another. Walking up the hill in a loose group. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Shit! Another group of thirteen, this is it.
One of them says something out loud and then stops as though to listen. No one moves. Ralph's shoulder is resting on a knob in the tree and it is starting to hurt but he dare not move because the enemy is now in their midst and wary. His breathing is audible to him now and he consciously tries to suppress it. He can't see anyone but Lau from where he is sitting and he is starting to feel very alone and very frightened his adrenalin level nears the breaking point. His hand tightens on the grip of the gun and the other hand checks the magazine. Now they have quit talking and are listening carefully.
Then one points and says something and the rest follow him toward the trail. Once on the trail they walk toward the top of the hill and begin the same chatter that betrayed them in the first place. Ralph starts to breath again, and is now conscious of his pounding heart. "PHHHHHH!!!" The unconscious rush of air relieves his tension, and he lies back against the tree and rests his weapon against his chest as though it were a lover resting there and closes his eyes once more.
Ralph is startled awake by the sound of someone moving near him.
"Let's go Eagle." Rufus the messenger is back again. Ralph follows him down the hill to the waiting hoard. The sun is about down as they continue their trek.
Four more hours through the silent darkness. Then, more voices. Everyone takes the most convenient cover and waits for instructions. Ralph is aware of one person moving first to one man and then the next. Then it's Ralph's turn.
"Eagle, the chief wants you down front. Where is Crawford?"
"I don't know we were supposed to stay separated." He says as he moves down the hill in the direction that Rufus had come from.
"Eagle, sit down, where's Crawford?" The chief rambles on as Ralph crouches beside him in the dark.
"Rufus is looking for him." He answers wondering who made him Chris' baby sitter. A moment later Crawford joins them.
"Ok here is the scenario." The chief begins. "You can see the top of that tree the way it is broken off to the east. That is where the bird went down. We figure that it is probably about a quarter mile farther down in that direction."
"That's where the voices are coming from." Crawford adds.
"That's right gentlemen; the aircraft is already in enemy hands. It's going to be our job to see to it that they don't get to use any of it."
"How are we going to do that?" Ralph asks, with a smirk on his face that says he knows how.
"We?" The chief retorts. "Not we, Eagle, you."
"Shit!"
"No shit. You and Crawford are to get inside the aircraft, set your charges, pull the pins on the self destruct devices if their still on board and then get the hell out."
"I like the last part best." Crawford adds.
"The aircraft will be easy to find, just follow the debris line and try to enter through the bay door because that's where all the goodies are. Simmons is going to go with you and clear a path for you, any questions?" This time he waits for an answer.
"No."
"Nope."
"Good. Get going, and good luck."
Each man takes his pack off and removes the satchel charges, the fuse rolls, fuse lighter and blasting caps. They set about their task with the skills expected of the experts that they are, and in less than a minute the charges are ready to go. The only thing left to do is to put the charges in place and pull the fuse lighters. With this done they place the charges back in the pack and put them back on their backs. Picking up their M-16's they signal Simmons that they are ready and then follow him down the hill toward their target.
After moving about 150 yards Simmons puts his hand up and squats down near a tree. Picking up his weapon, an M-14 rifle with an infrared night scope and a silencer, he scans the forest ahead of him, sweeping it from left to right.
"There are two men down there, one to the left of our trail and one to the right. I'm going to remove them and then wait to see if we attract any attention."
Remove them was Simmons' way of saying kill. He raised his rifle once more and steadies it against the tree trunk.
"PSSSSPop!" The sound of the rifle discharging through the eight inch silencer and then the sound of the bullet breaking the sound barrier as it leaves the muzzle.
"One down," as he swings the muzzle to the right. "PSSSSPop!"
After pulling the second trigger he lowers his rifle and listens intently for sounds from the others.
"OK, their conversation didn't change so they didn't hear anything. Let's go." He starts moving before he finishes speaking.
His two companions follow him until he again stops and starts to swing his rifle from side to side.
"There is a sentry on either side of the aircraft but we can get between them. Can you see it?" He asks as he points down the trail of debris toward the aircraft.
"Yeah." Ralph answers. "We can get there pretty easy now."
The tail of the big EB-66 is only about another 75 yards and is visible in the moonlight that is pouring through the fallen trees created when the aircraft came down. Walking on the edge of the opening to limit the possibility of detection and to keep from stepping on the metal that is strewn along the path, they stop every ten or twenty yards so that Simmons can take another look with his night scope, each time it is clear of images and they move on until they reach the aircraft.
Using only hand signals now the three men position themselves under an opening in the belly of the aircraft. The two EOD men take their packs off and then one at a time enter the aircraft. Simmons then hands them their charges and then returns to his vigilance. Inside Ralph makes a motion with his hands like pulling up on two handles indicating that the electronics officer had ejected from the aircraft. Crawford nods an understanding. They move toward the cockpit and notice that the thermite destruction devises were employed and had completed their job of burning the electronics gears into a glob of metal on the deck of the aircraft. Reaching the cockpit they notice that both seats for the pilot and the copilot are gone and the Plexiglas fuselage coverings over each are missing. They had also ejected. The next task is to check the radio operator who sits below decks and ejects downward, but the access door won't budge and they can't risk the noise it would take to get it open.
“Nothing left to destroy here,” Crawford says. “Let’s go”
"Let's just charge the hell out of the radio mans hatch first.” Ralph whispers.
“Why, there is nothing to get.”
“Do you want to carry these charges back to base?” Ralph is being lazy.
“Oh, yeah. Crawford acknowledges.
They place their charges in a row along the top of the hatch, two on each side of the aircraft. Once they are in place they each look at the other, nod and pull one fuse lighter each and then grab the other and do the same to the second set. Waiting just long enough to verify smoke from the fuses they move back to the opening where they came in and Ralph whispers one question through the hole. "Clear?"
"Clear." Comes Simmons' reply, and Ralph drops through the opening to the ground followed a few seconds later by Crawford. Once on the ground they move rapidly back in the direction they had come from. Only this time they are moving at a near running pace. They cover the distance to the waiting group in two minutes and Ralph takes the lead of the group from the chief with two words.
"Four minutes." And breaks into a dead run toward the top of the hill.
The entire group crests the small hill in two minutes and continues down the other side. Two minutes after that 80 lbs of C-4 shatters what remains of the EB-66 cockpit into shards of Plexiglas and aluminum, killing the remaining members of the North Vietnamese sentry force.
Two minutes later the chief resumes command. "Hold up gentlemen. Let’s catch our breath and then hightail it out of here."
No one argues, each man sitting down with their back to a tree. Resting for about five minutes the chief then moves to the center of the group.
"Did we get it all?" He directs his question at Ralph and Crawford.
"We don't think that there was anything to get chief." Ralph explains.
"What do you mean?"
"The crew set the destructors on the equipment and ejected and the only equipment that we couldn't verify destroyed was under a bulkhead so we just charged the hell out of that section. There isn't anything left of the cockpit."
"In other words chief, yes we got it all." Crawford quips.
"OK. Let's get the flock out of here." The chief stands up as he speaks and heads in the direction of Viet Nam.
The trip back is like taking a Sunday hike except that they are walking at a racers pace. And with the pressure seemingly off Ralph once again starts to think about his premonition. It seemed so real and yet the mission was so easy. Is he starting to have dreams like so many of his buddies have? Dreams about being the one killed instead of doing the killing. Dreams of guilt. Guilt about killing men when they were raised believing that killing is wrong. But Ralph's dreams have always been premonitions, warnings of things to come. Maybe it isn't time to relax yet.
When they reach the LZ They can hear the distant whop, whop, whop of Huey's as they come in to pick up ND3. One of the team members pops a green smoke grenade and the Huey follows the smoke in. This time they all came out. There is still no justification for Ralph's premonition. The flight back to Khe Sanh is also uneventful, and as the men step off of the helicopter onto the pad and start back to their barracks Ralph starts to relax.
Standing in the first shower that he has had in four days Ralph starts thinking about his bunk and being able to sleep for more than a couple of hours. When you are in the bush you really don't sleep because you might not wake up. He is really tired.
Back in the barracks now he drops his towel on the floor, kicks off his boots and without pulling the covers down flops on his bunk and is instantly asleep. Sound asleep. So sound asleep that he doesn't hear the whooshing sound or the sentry yelling.
"INCOMING!"
