Eye Corps

The cloudy sky was brightening as we jumped off the trucks. We freshened our camouflage, grabbed a last smoke, and set off. Our first objective was the Rock Pile, its steep walls furred with charred brush. We could see snaggletoothed Razorback Ridge off left in the distance. The battlefield was a holy mess, as Mac put it, worse than any Arc Light drop zone. We were stepping over the blackened detritus from the clash of armies. I sensed tension in my men as we picked our way over the debris. Yes, we were out in the bush again, exposed to danger—but that was normal. It was the horrific post-battle scene that shook us. Exploded palm trees, ground foliage shredded like salad, the clay soil churned and charred and littered with the junk of battle: burnt clothing, helmets, canteens, packs, picks, entrenching tools, water cans, spent cartridges, disabled trucks, even an abandoned U.S. tank. The bomb runs ended just yesterday, and the acrid smell stung our noses. As we approached the Rock Pile, we saw the occasional corpse or body part, swarmed by maggots and black flies. These seemed small and Vietnamese. It was too soon for the rancid smell of death to overpower the stench of cordite and smolder. That would happen in a day or two, depending on weather. My boys were tough and we’d been to some awful places, but this was the worst. Our job was not to climb the Rock Pile or the Razorback—we were to circle them, looking for signs of life. Over two days of crachin fog, we detected no activity at the Rock Pile, so we headed for the Razorback, the larger and more complex feature. By the late afternoon, we’d arrived within a long football field. The smell of decaying flesh was rising. I heard a loud “Christ!” from Audie at point. I signaled a halt and stepped up. Audie stood over two badly burned Marine corpses. It was shocking to see dead comrades, barbecued, unclaimed, full of maggots. Marines are obsessive about recovering their buddies’ bodies—mission is first, but men a close second. The mantra, drilled into us from day one, was “No Marine Left Behind.” Yet these guys, apparently victims of friendly fire, had been left behind in the fog of war. We retreated toward a large boulder. From there we could watch the Razorback and keep a bead on our dead comrades. I called Jupiter and reported the two friendly KIAs. Skipper told me to sit tight; division would decide how to retrieve the bodies. We formed a loose perimeter. I’d never seen our guys so agitated. Mac tried to settle them down. Audie climbed up on the boulder with his M14, not interested in settling down. He told Mac he’d spotted a couple of NVs maybe 250 meters up along the east base of the ridge. Mac and I watched for a while but didn’t see anything. Darkness was descending. Audie asked permission to go check it out with Garza. I said no, we had orders. He pouted. I called in Audie’s possible NV sighting and Skipper confirmed that we should stay put until morning. At first light, Mac came to me with bad news. “It’s Audie. He’s gone. Maybe went after them zips he think he saw.” “Shit,” I said. “That’s really annoying.” “Before you call it in, Lieutenant, let’s give it a few minutes. Maybe he’s out there taking an elaborate crap.” “I doubt it.” I knew Audie would eventually do something like this. Mac alerted the men not to shoot Audie if he returned. We waited. Nothing happened for thirty minutes, no Audie, no nothing, just a lot of nervous tension.