The Uvalde Raider by Ben English (great books for teens TXT) 📕

by an escalation in their activities, and it all pointed like the proverbial dagger at the throat of I Corps. When heavy artillery barrages and air strikes proved less than successful against the expanding enemy capabilities, the call went out yet again to ‘send in the Marines.’

Thus began the last major offensive of the United States Marine Corps in Vietnam, a two-month long assault that would go down officially in military journals as Operation Dewey Canyon. For the Marine grunts on the ground Dewey Canyon proved to be a tough, sometimes desperate journey up the watershed of the Da Krong River and into Laos itself.

Yet these Marines left their marks at every chancy step, providing the Marine Corps with dominant tactical successes due to their individual sweat, tenacity, spirit and life’s blood. Five Medals of Honor were earned by the men of the Ninth Marine Regiment during Dewey Canyon, but only one would survive to receive our nation’s highest honor. The other four, along with many another good Marine, would lose his life somewhere along the way.

Early on Micah’s platoon had set in on a knoll about two clicks west of Firebase Razor, under construction at the time. Razor was one of the necessary stepping stones toward the Laotian border as well as the enemy contained within, and he and his men were providing a blocking force against any possible NVA reconnaissance or incursion.

Their position had been a good one, not only as an obstacle for any attacking forces but also as an observation point. Some 500 meters to the west down steeply sloping terrain was the Da Krong River, which before the monsoons was nothing more in spots than a rocky stream. That would change in the next few days, when that rocky stream would become a raging beast fed by nine straight days of near continual rain.

For now it served as a clearly defined marker for their area. The wide, open riverbed was a welcome change from the triple canopy jungle that covered their side of the steep, hilly landscape. Across the river the jungle thinned into large, isolated clumps of trees and tangled undergrowth surrounded by large swaths of elephant grass.

The different terrain making up the opposite side allowed their field of view to extend to the west for nearly two clicks. Just south of the knoll, the river took a sudden jag to the east before it continued on south. The ground fell away in a more gradual incline to that general direction, which afforded them even a better view toward Laos and the Ninth’s ultimate objective.

It was fairly early in the morning, and Micah had just made breakfast from a box of C-Rats labeled “Beef, Spiced with Sauce.” At least that was what they called it for officialdom’s sake, but the joke was that it looked and smelled much like a can of Alpo dog food. He was talking with the newly arrived second lieutenant about how the platoon’s three squads were employed around their makeshift CP, when Mister Eggers first entered Micah Templar’s world.

“Sergeant, Gonzales says we got movement coming in from the west, across the river.”

Micah looked up into the earnest face of a young PFC from Third Squad. His boy-like features were belied by dirt and whisker stubbles on his face, mixed with the deeply etched lines of protracted weariness brought on by daily life as a Marine grunt.

“What sort of movement?” he asked.

“Gonzales don’t know exactly, said it was something strange and to go get you ASAP.”

Micah had met Corporal Enrique “Chapo” Gonzales even before they had both landed in the same platoon. A star linebacker for the McCamey Badgers while in high school, the short, stocky Gonzales was known in the outfit as being a Marine’s Marine. When he said he saw something strange and needed Micah immediately, the acting platoon sergeant knew that business was fixing to pick up.

“Lieutenant,” he addressed the new platoon commander, “I’d better go take a look.” Micah reached down for his M14, the most prized possession he had in country. As per Headquarters Marine Corps all line companies by now had transitioned to the M16 but he still preferred the older, heavier battle rifle due to its far greater punch and reliability. His existing chain of command appreciated his demonstrated skill with the non-standard weapon, and tended to look the other way.

Second Lieutenant Amos A. Johnson had only been assigned as the new platoon commander as of yesterday. A lean, blue eyed, strikingly handsome Cornhusker who had run track for the University of Nebraska, he had only been commissioned six months ago and had seen Vietnam for the first time the week past.

This was his first command and he found himself involved in the steepest learning curve of his young life. To compensate for part of that was the sagely advice from older, more experienced officers: pick out your best NCOs and learn from them. It was advice that he planned to follow.

“I’m going with you, Sergeant” replied Johnson.

The gaunt PFC led the way to a spot above the platoon’s improvised CP, an observation point affording a commanding view to the west and south. Micah had personally selected this location as their primary OP and put the best man he had in charge of operating it. That was why Gonzales was here.

“Whatcha got, Chapo?” asked Micah as he crawled next to the dark complected man, who looking through a Bausch and Lomb spotting scope.  Lieutenant Johnson wiggled up on the other side.

“I got bad guys. NVA regulars, looks to be at least platoon strength” replied Gonzales, never taking his eye off the scope.

“Where?” asked Templar, picking up a pair of binoculars lying in front of him.

“About 1500 meters out, directly to our west in that low area draining to the river. You probably cannot see them through the binos unless they are moving.