THE CROSSING, A WAR STORY.

Sweat ran down his face burning his eyes and blurring his vision.  His mouth felt like the time he had eaten a green persimmon.  The burning on his side where the NVA sniper bullet had torn a hole in his gillie suit and sent pieces of dirt and rock into his skin had been replaced by the sting of ants and who knows what else crawling around on him.  His spotter was safe behind a termite mound about twenty yards back, but he, although well camouflaged, was exposed to incoming fire.   He lay absolutely motionless as he waited  for the next round he prayed wouldn't come.   It had been about an hour since the NVA sniper, thinking he saw something,  had fired a spoiler into the green wall of jungle trying to provoke a reaction.  The shooter knew that the slightest movement could be his last.

At first light the shooter and his spotter had taken up  position on a high point about two hundred yards from this river crossing.  An  aerial photo had revealed this trail branched off the Ho Chi Minh.  Because they had known the distance would be close he had brought his scope mounted M-14 and one hundred twenty rounds of ammo instead of his thousand yard Winchester M-70.  The spotter had his M-16 and nine magazines, frag and smoke grenades, plus two claymores to cover any pursuit.   They hoped to catch some NVA troops and supplies trying to make the crossing.  Apparently the NVA sniper had set up to protect the crossing.  The fact that he had fired without confirming his target told the shooter the guy was a rookie.

The day had been long and hot.  No wind and by mid afternoon not a sound , except buzzing insects.  Seeing nothing for hours the spotter had slid back from their firing position and moved behind the termite mound to take a break.  This movement had brought the shot that nearly hit the shooter.  It was two hours until sundown, their pickup time.  His mind raced trying to come up with a plan to get out of the mess he was in.

The spotter was doing the same thing, trying to figure what to do.  He didn't dare communicate with his shooter.  Their coordination and cooperation was going to have to be mental, based on experience and training.  The spotter knew his shooter was trapped.  Any movement on the shooters part would be a death sentence.  So it was up to the spotter.

They waited.  It was as if the sun was stuck!  The shooter was miserable.  Every muscle screamed at him to move.  Discipline and training kept him frozen.  At least they had the advantage of  the sun at their back. He knew if they waited until dark to E&E they wouldn't make their rendezvous with the Huey and that the place would be crawling with NVA soldiers. He decided while there was still enough light, the spotter would have to open up with his M-16, hopefully drawing fire or movement from the rookie NVA sniper.  That would give him a couple of seconds to find and smoke the bastard.  He mentally sent the plan to his spotter.

As the spotter sat safe behind the termite mound he decided what he would do.  They had to be back at their pickup point by dark.  He knew from experience that at dark the NVA would probably make a crossing in force.  They had to be gone in time to make the pickup and avoid Charlie.  He knew his shooter knew this to, so he would wait as long as he could and then expose himself  just long enough to fire a couple of rounds across the river.  Hopefully this would draw fire or movement from the NVA sniper and give his shooter enough time to find and eliminate him.  If, however, his shooter was already dead  he would hall ass outta there and come back later with reinforcements to recover the body.

Finally, as the sun began to touch the tree tops the spotter checked his weapon, took a deep breath and muttered "here we go."  Stepping from behind the termite mound he cut loose on full auto.  Instantly a bullet tore into the mound by his head and as he started to fall back another hit his M-16 almost tearing it out of his hands.

As the spotter fell behind the mound he heard the M-14  fire.  The moment his spotter fired the shooter raised his rifle and put the cross hairs on a small reflection across the river.  Resisting the temptation to hurry he squeezed the trigger and the reflection vanished.  He then emptied his magazine into the area.  Rapidly back crawling and rolling, his muscles protesting every move, he made it to the protection of the termite mound and there sat his spotter breathing heavily.

Without a word they grabbed their gear and ran as fast as they could, breaking bush, staying off the trails.   When they were sure no one was following them they took a break, emptied their canteens and headed for their pickup point.  Hopefully the Huey would be there.

The operation would soon be forgotten.  Most of the missions would become blurred, hard to remember one from another.  As the years passed their memories would get mixed up with their buddies stories until they weren't really sure what happened to who.


Kim Warren