Nam Sense by Jr. Arthur Wiknik Page B

1968, the 1st Calvary Division and the 101st made several successful raids, disrupting enemy supply routes in the valley. Now, the renewed presence of the 101st denied the NVA the use of Highway 548, a major artery of the Ho Chi Minh Trail. The loss of this dirt truck route, which zigzagged along the valley floor, forced the NVA into the new strategy of taking a defensive position and fighting.
    We learned that four companies from the 3/187th Infantry had been engaged with the enemy for eight straight days. The action was initiated on May 10 as our troops conducted sweeps of the area. During that first day, they discovered a network of enemy trails, communication wires and cables, spider holes, huts, bunkers, and discarded miscellaneous clothing and equipment. Whenever the GIs neared Dong Ap Bia Mountain (Hill 937 on military maps) they were shot at by snipers with RPGs (Rocket Propelled Grenades) or ambushed by machine gun fire and command detonated claymore mines dangling from bushes and trees.
    The first concentrated attempt to take Hill 937 occurred on May 14. Up to that day, most of the action had been on the ridges and in the draws around the base of the hill, making it difficult to pinpoint the location of the main enemy forces. For the next four days, artillery and tactical air strikes pounded away at the hill, pulverizing the terrain, but not enough to soften the enemy so the hill could be taken. Each successive ground assault met fiercer resistance. There was no question the NVA were on the hill in formidable numbers and they had no intention of leaving without a fight. By the time our company arrived several assaults, countless snipers, and dozens of ambushed patrols left an estimated fifty GIs dead, fifteen missing and presumed dead, and almost 300 wounded. Worse yet, four of the dead and 53 of the wounded resulted from three separate incidents of misguided helicopter gunship fire. The fact the NVA had lost men at ten times our rate was of little comfort to men who watched as Americans accidentally killed Americans.
    On Sunday morning, May 18, it was still dark when we assembled on the helipad. The rumble of three giant CH-47 Chinook transport helicopters broke the ominous pre-dawn silence. The choppers drifted in slowly, landing one at a time, staying on the ground just long enough for thirty-five men to climb aboard each ship.
    We sat against the fuselage wall, facing each other across the aisle. The Chinook was too noisy for us to talk, so no one bothered. We just looked past each other and out the windows at the shadowy mountains below. During the half-hour flight the morning sun began to shine on the mountaintops. From where we sat, the jungle below looked peaceful; everyone knew differently.
    We were taken to a staging area on the A Shau Valley floor where we had to provide our own security while waiting for the next phase of the operation. After the Chinooks roared out of sight the men became unusually quiet as we examined our new surroundings. The valley was less humid than the flatlands, almost comfortable. But that was the only thing that felt good about this eerie place. Just outside our position, ten-foot tall elephant grass had been matted down by the Chinook’s powerful rotor wash, leaving nothing to conceal us if we were attacked. Beyond that, steep mountains with sharp ridges walled up the valley where fog and clouds seemed to manifest themselves from the triple canopy jungle. The A Shau Valley was a strange place that seemed not to want us there any more than we wanted to be there.
    “Do you think we’re being watched?” Freddie Shaw asked, looking up at the ridgeline.
    “Are you kidding?” Harrison laughed. “Every fuckin’ NVA in the valley knows we’re here. If those three Chinooks didn’t give our position away, nothing will.”
    “It looks like the Gooks could easily mortar us from those ridges,” added Scoggins. “Or maybe attack us from the other side of that tall