„Ooh, a
storm is threatening, my very life today, If I don’t get some shelter, Ooh yeah
I’m gonna fade away.”
Kurze Zeit dachte ich an diese Textzeile aus Gimme Shelter von den Stones, als der Sturm uns auf den klapprigen Bänken in diesem verdammten Militärtruck hin und her warf.
Es regnete in diesem beschissenen Land wie aus Eimern. Blitze zuckten über uns hinweg, der Sturm fegte Blätter, Zweige, ja ganze Äste über die verdammten Wege, die man hier als Straßen bezeichnete. Unsere Fahrer fluchten bei jedem Stein, jedem Schlagloch, das sie erwischten. Und von denen es verdammt viele, in dieser verdammt unwirtlichen Gegend gab.
Aber…
Was sollten wir tun?!? Wir hatten einen Befehl, und den mussten wir befolgen, egal was der Wettergott da oben in seinem verdammten Himmel mit uns vorhatte.
Diese Tour startete, nachdem der Chief uns mitgeteilt hatte, dass seine Hueys nicht starten könnten.
Mist. Ich liebte ja das beruhigende Fapp-Fapp-Fapp der Rotoren über meinem Kopf.
Stattdessen hatten wir jetzt das hier …
Schläge in den Rücken, Helme die nach vorne rutschten, schimpfende Männer, die Halt suchten, um nicht von den Bänken zu fallen, und mittendrin ich, Peter Miller.
„Lieutenant Miller?“.
Der junge Funker, der mir gegenübersaß, hatte offensichtlich die Frage an mich gerichtet.
„Hmh?“, antwortete ich.
„Lieutenant. Ist es erlaubt eine persönliche Frage zu stellen?“
Ich nickte bejahend, während ich meine Hände auf die Pritsche stemmte, um nicht auf ihn zu fallen.
„Lieutenant Sir. Warum grinsen Sie?“
Ich gab ihm keine Antwort.
Warum auch. Hätte ich Sie ihm gegeben, hätte er mich für wahnsinnig gehalten.
Ich grinste einfach weiter.
Ich grinste, weil ich hier in diesem gottverdammten Land, in dem gottverdammten Regen, in diesem gottverdammten Krieg endlich wieder zu Hause war.
Ja.
Zu Hause.
Der Funker hätte auch nicht verstanden, wenn ich ihm erklärt hätte, dass er, und alle anderen Bastarde hier in diesem Truck, diese verdammten Kameraden meine wirkliche Familie waren.
Er hätte zwar als mein Untergebener eifrig genickt, aber geglaubt hätte er mir das nicht. Denn genau, wie andere Männer meiner Einheit konnte auch er es nicht fassen, warum ich jetzt wieder nach so langer Zeit hier in NAM war.
Ich saß in diesem Miltärtruck, weil ich mich freiwillig zu meiner dritten Dienstzeit gemeldet hatte, und jetzt unterwegs zu meinem neuen Einsatzort war.
Nach meinem zweiten Einsatz hier in NAM hatte ich die Reise zurück in die Staaten angetreten. Das war jetzt tatsächlich schon über zwei Jahre her.
Bis zu diesem Zeitpunkt hatte ich einige gefährliche Gefechte hinter mich gebracht. Ich sah Kameraden neben mir fallen. Hatte die Schreie der Verwundeten gehört. Schwerverletzte nach hinten geschleppt.
Auch ich selbst war nicht verschont geblieben.
Niemand blieb in NAM verschont.
Wenn es einen nicht körperlich traf, dann blies es einem doch irgendwann das Hirn weg. Brainfuck nannten es die Jungs.
Uncle Sam dachte dann irgendwann in meinem Fall, jetzt wäre es genug; und ich bin ehrlich Leute. Auch ich teilte damals, zu diesem verdammten Zeitpunkt, die Meinung von Uncle Sam.
Als ich nach Hause kam, atmete ich erst einmal kräftig durch.
Da war sie meine Base. Die bekannten Hangars, Zelte, Casinos. Alles friedlich. Keine Feinde. Keine Schüsse. Keine Tropenhitze. Keine Mücken.
Nichts von dem verdammten Scheiß.
Die erste Überraschung, die ich erlebte, waren Friedensaktivisten, die mir hinterher spuckten, als ich in meinem Privatauto die Basis verließ.
Die standen vor der Bannmeile am Camp, hielten Plakate gegen den Krieg hoch, johlten und buhten, immer dann, wenn Fahrzeuge oder Soldaten an ihnen vorbeifuhren.
Nebenbei bemerkt waren ein paar verdammt hübsche, junge Girls bei Ihnen, und yes, für kurze Zeit dachte ich, ob es nicht vielleicht besser sei, mich der Hippiebewegung anzuschließen.
Freie Liebe, freie Drogen, freies Leben.
Hmh.
Seien wir ehrlich. Das hat schon was.
Aber; ich war Offizier, und eigentlich durfte ich gar nicht über so etwas nachdenken.
Trotzdem gefiel mir die Dunkelhaarige, die Ihre Brüste vor mir entblößte auf denen FUCK OFF stand.
Echt jetzt; es gibt schlimmere Protestformen.
Die zweite Überraschung, die auf mich wartete, war dann zu Hause. Meine Freundin und Verlobte Mary Lu, hatte mich wohl für irgendeinen Kerl verlassen, der öfter zu Hause war als ich.
Jedenfalls teilte Sie mir das in einem kurzen Brief mit, der auf dem Küchentisch lag.
Am Ende des Schreibens stand FUCK OFF.
Die dritte Überraschung erlebte ich dann in einer Bar, in die ich mit voller Uniform einlief, um einfach mal den ganzen Frust wegzusaufen, der sich über meinem Kopf zu türmen begann. Hinter dem Tresen stand eine rothaarige Schönheit und um mich herum einige Zivilisten, die mich leicht schräg ansahen.
Ich hatte wohl irgendwann ein paar Whisky zu viel in mir, als ich damit begann die Rothaarige davon überzeugen zu wollen, dass ein Date mit mir der absolute Jackpot wäre. Die schien auch gar nicht abgeneigt zu sein, aber der Typ am Ende vom Tresen, fand das gar nicht so gut. Der stand auf, kam zu mir rüber und meinte nur FUCK OFF.
Als ich im Jeep der MP saß, mit einem linken Auge, das in unterschiedlichen grün und blau Tönen leuchtete, dachte ich darüber nach, dass FUCK OFF wohl zu einem Modewort geworden war in der Zeit, in der ich drüben in NAM war.
Nun ja.
Änderte nichts an der Tatsache, dass ich dem Barkeeper die Musikbox bezahlen musste, in die ich den Typ vom Tresen geworfen hatte. Auch ein paar Tische und Stühle, die zu Bruch gegangen waren, kamen auf die Rechnung. Aber… ich hatte die Adresse von der Rothaarigen; und das war die Sache wert gewesen.
Die Monate vergingen, und außer den Dates mit der Rothaarigen, die ziemlich heiß waren, fand ich alles so öde. Mir fehlte etwas.
Mir fehlten irgendwann sogar die verdammten Mücken, der verdammte Regen, die verdammte Hitze, die verdammten Geräusche des Krieges.
Dann hörte ich Gimme Shelter von den Stones. Und als dann im Refrain immer wieder die Worte „War, Children, it’s just a shot away, it’s just a shot away…“ wiederholt wurden, da wusste ich irgendwann, was das bedeutete.
Ich betone: Für MICH bedeutete, nicht für Jagger, Richards, Wyman, Watts oder Mick Taylor (erst recht nicht mehr für Brian Jones, der war zu dem Zeitpunkt der Veröffentlichung des Songs ja schon tot).
Ich gehörte hier nicht mehr hin. Das Bequeme war nicht meine Welt. Ich musste wieder zurück, denn das, was ich in NAM tat, das konnte ich gut.
Ich war ein guter Soldat, ein Krieger, der verdammt noch Mal, nicht mehr in diese verdammte heile Welt passte.
Die Rothaarige hatte sogar Verständnis. Die meinte,
„Hey Pete. Das war gut mit Dir. Mach das Ding, dass Du tun musst. Wenn Du zurückkommst, klopf an. Wenn nicht, auch gut. Deine Entscheidung.“
Wir verbrachten eine großartige letzte Nacht miteinander und wir gingen als Freunde.
Jetzt saß ich in diesem verdammten LKW, und ja, ich musste grinsen, als ich mir über die vergangenen Monate Gedanken machte.
„Männer. Waffen überprüfen!“, rief ich so unerwartet, dass die meisten zusammenzuckten.
Mit Stolz sah ich, dass jeder richtig reagierte. Die Männer schnappten sich Ihre M16, entriegelten den Sicherungshebel und gaben mir nacheinander Meldung.
Gut.
Ich grinste immer noch. Aber jetzt, weil ich sah, dass dieser Trupp funktionierte.
Es waren ein paar Junge Kerle dabei, ein paar Rekruten, aber auch meine alten Kampfgefährten Mad Dog Murphy , unser Scharfschütze, der Schreibtischhengst Zobowski, der sich zu nem wirklich guten Soldaten gemausert hatte, Doc Tho, unser Scout, Rambowski unser MG Schütze, Stuart, der Verrückte mit der Shotgun und natürlich auch Forrest, unser Sanitäter.
Vorne, an der Spitze des Zuges, befand sich auch Henderson, unser M113 Truppführer, der unseren LKW Konvoi zum Zieleinsatz begleiten sollte.
Dass wir jetzt alle wieder hier vereint in unserem alten Platoon kämpften, hatten wir Colonel Zoran Deer zu verdanken, der was ganz Großes plante und den alten Trupp zusammen haben wollte.
Jetzt stoppten die LKW.
Wir hatten unseren Treffpunkt Alpha-Zulu erreicht.
Hier würden wir Offiziere erst einmal die Lage besprechen.
Ich sprang von der Pritsche, natürlich direkt in eine fast knietiefe Pfütze und fluchte laut.
Ich hasse Regen. Ich hasse Nässe. Ich hasse Matsch. Ich hasse dieses Land.
Ich lief an der Wagenkolonne entlang, bis ich den Kommando M113 sah, der aus der Kolonne ausgeschert am Wegrand stand. Ich lief zur Tür am hinteren Teil des Fahrzeugs und machte sie auf.
Vier Gesichter grinsten mich an, und ich grinste zurück.
Es war das erste Mal nach mehr als zwei Jahren, dass ich Colonel Zoran Deer, Lieutenant Svenson und Lieutenant Sour wieder in einem gemeinsamen Briefing sah. Es war fast so, als wenn uns eine tödliche Pandemie in Quarantäne gezwungen und voneinander getrennt hätte. Jetzt waren wir wieder vereint.
Wir begrüßten uns erst einmal, und jeder sah in den Augen des anderen, dass wir bereit waren wieder loszuschlagen.
Das neue Gesicht, der noch junge Lieutenant Smith, von dem es heißt, dass er gerade die Akademie beendet hatte, wurde mir kurz vorgestellt. Ich nickte ihm freundlich zu. Mal schauen, wie er sich im Gefecht schlagen würde.
Kurze Zeit später öffnete sich die Tür noch einmal, und dann trat er ein. Der Duke. Der von uns alle geschätzte Kommandeur unserer Kompanie.
Auch er grinste uns an.
Es schien, dass Grinsen mittlerweile ziemlich in war, genau wie das FUCK OFF in der Heimat.
Nachdem wir jetzt komplett waren, begann der Colonel auch sofort mit dem Briefing:
„Meine Herren. Ich komme am besten schnell zur Sache. Das Verhör von gefangenen Vietcong hat uns einige Informationen über den Ho-Chi-Minh-Pfad gebracht.
In diesem Sektor soll es verschiedene Eingänge zu einem unterirdischen Tunnelsystem geben. Außerdem befindet sich dort irgendwo ein geheimes Versorgungslager des Vietcong, von dem aus er die feindlichen Guerillas im Umkreis versorgt. Unsere Luftaufklärung hat keine Hinweise auf das Versorgungslager ergeben. Wahrscheinlich ist es nur über die Tunnel zu erreichen.
Soviel zur Lage.
Der Auftrag.
Wir bringen ihren Trupp mit M113 Schützenpanzern rein. Diese fungieren auch als Feuerunterstützung.
Finden sie die Zugänge zu dem Tunnelsystem und kundschaften sie es aus.
Oberste Priorität hat das Finden und Sprengen des Versorgungslagers!
Ein gut ausgebildeter Sanitäter wurde abkommandiert und kann im Notfall einen provisorischen Verbandsplatz einrichten.
Wenn sie eine Lichtung als Landezone sichern, steht ein Medevac Helikopter für den Abtransport ihrer Verwundeten zur Verfügung.
Es befindet sich ein Hog Kampfhubschrauber im Operationsgebiet, der noch zwei Luftangriffe mit Luft-Boden-Raketen fliegen kann.
Aber Achtung: Der Vietcong operiert schon lange in diesem Gebiet. Er hatte also Zeit, Fallen zu stellen, Minen zu legen und Stellungen zum Schutz der Tunneleingänge auszuheben.
Gibt es bis hierhin noch Fragen?“
Die Fragen werden sich ergeben, wenn wir vor Ort sind, dachte ich mir.
Das Briefing war klar und auch nicht ungewöhnlich.
Ein typischer Einsatz in diesem verdammten Land. Ja; ich war wieder zu Hause.
„Lieutenant Saur.“
“Ja Sir.”
“Sie bleiben mit Ihrer Einheit im Lager und übernehmen die Sicherung. Wir haben Meldungen, dass der Feind einen Angriff auf die Basis plant. Ihren Part wird Lieutenant Smith mit seiner Einheit übernehmen.“
„Ja Sir. Verstanden!“
Mist, dachte ich. Es war immer verdammt gut Saur an seiner Seite zu wissen. Er hatte bei uns den Spitznamen „Lucky Dice“.
Das letzte Mal, wo er nicht bei der Truppe war, hatten wir auch Probleme. Damals dachten wir – natürlich aus Spaß – er hätte den Vietcong persönlich kommandiert. Mal schauen, was diesmal passieren würde.
Egal wie; wir machten uns auf den Marsch.
Am linken Flügel fuhr unser ACAV, der höchstpersönlich von Henderson kommandiert wurde. Der Duke, ich, Fireteam Alpha und zur Unterstützung ein MG Team als Besatzung.
In der Mitte war Smith, der Fireteam Charlie und das MG Team von Rambowski und Zobowski zugewiesen bekommen hatte.
Am rechten Flügel befand sich Svenson. Diesem unterstanden
Doc Tho, unser Scout, Forrester, unser Sani, und Mad Dog Murphy, der Scharfschütze.
Außerdem befehligte er Fireteam Bravo.
Wir rollten nach vorne, glotzen in den Dschungel und machten erst einmal nichts aus.
„Da oben ist ein Hügel, da haben wir ein vernünftiges Schussfeld. Henderson. Da hoch!“
Irgendwie drangen die Worte des Duke dumpf in meinen Schädel.
War ich nicht konzentriert? Hatte die lange Abwesenheit von NAM meine Sinne entschärft?
Ich weiß es nicht.
Vielleicht war es auch nur einfach, dass Charlie sich verdammt gut getarnt hatte, und wir nicht damit rechneten, dass er sich überraschend nach vorne bewegte.
Ich wurde aus meiner Dämmerung gerissen, als die abgefeuerte RPG Granate unseren M113 quasi zerriss und ich, Henderson, der Duke und Coldsteel, der eine Mann vom MG Team, aus dem Wageninnern geschleudert wurden.
Keine Ahnung warum gerade wir Vier das Ganze überlebten. Es war ein Wunder.
Der Duke, den es leicht erwischt hatte, richtete sich auf und rief mir zu.
„Verdammt!! Miller! Schnappen Sie sich das Funkgerät! Den Funker hat es auch erwischt! Henderson sie nehmen ein M16! Coldsteel, Sie sichern nach rechts!!!!“
Wir mussten uns erst einmal orientieren.
Weit entfernt hörten wir auch Schüsse. Hier war wohl Svenson ebenfalls unter Feuer geraten.
Aber der hatte wenigstens seine Mannschaft vorher absitzen lassen, und somit keine nennenswerten Verletzungen.
Doc Tho stöberte den ersten Tunneleingang auf und hier entwickelte sich ein intensives Feuergefecht.
„Miller. Bitte kommen!!!“
Ich hörte die Stimme von Lieutenant Smith aus meinem Funkgerät.
„Smith. Ich höre Sie. Bitte kommen.“
„Euch hat es ja böse erwischt. Wir helfen Euch mit unserem M113 bei der Evakuierung der Toten und Verletzten.“
Ich hatte mittlerweile schon den ersten Verwundeten in die Evakuierungszone geschleppt.
„Alles klar Smith. Aber halt die Augen auf. Hier tauchen immer wieder einzelne RPG Trupps auf!“
Während ich mit Smith funkte, zündete ich die erste Rauchgranate, um den Landeplatz für den Medevac zu markieren.
„Medevac. Medevac. Hier Stoßtrupp Alpha. Verletzte und Tote in Sektor 1-1-1. Bitte um Evakuierung!“
„Alpha. Funkruf bestätigt! Der Medevac fliegt los!“
Fireteam Bravo hatte mittlerweile einen Tunneleingang entdeckt und Svenson beschloss, sich als Tunnelratte zu bewähren.
Während Mad Dog Murphy und Doc Tho auf der Oberfläche sicherten, befehligte Svenson die Leute im Tunnel.
Smith hatte mittlerweile seine Trupps absitzen lassen. Er selbst schwang sich auf den M113 und fuhr auf uns zu. Geschickt wich er dem einsetzenden Feuer der Vietcong aus, und er brachte einen Toten und Schwerverwundeten zur Evakuierungszone.
Svenson sprengte einen Laufgraben der Vietcong in die Luft nachdem sein Trupp den Gegner besiegt hatte. Noch aus der Entfernung konnten wir die Rauchwolke sehen.
Jetzt schwebte der Medevac ein und begann mit der Evakuierung, die zum Glück ohne jegliche Probleme verlief.
Svenson berichtete uns später, dass es in dem Tunnel, in den er sich bewegt hatte, „finsterer als im Arsch“ gewesen sei. Er holte seine Jungs also wieder nach oben und sprengte den Eingang.
Wir bewegten uns derweil an allen Frontabschnitten vorsichtig nach vorne.
Immer wieder tauchte Charlie irgendwo auf, und wir mussten ihn niederkämpfen.
Dumm für uns, dass dies nicht immer ohne Verluste vonstattenging.
Zum Glück hatten wir keine weiteren Toten zu beklagen.
Dann erreichten Smith und ich fast zeitgleich unterschiedliche Tunneleingänge.
Nichts wie runter.
Während ich mich im Dunklen vortastete – vor mir der Duke und Henderson – klang die Stimme von Sergeant McCarthy in meinem Ohr:
„Sie werden lernen, wie man tötet! Wie man Charlie in seinem Sumpf findet! Wie man ihn aus seinem Loch rauszieht, und was man dann mit ihm macht! Haben Sie das verstanden Sie gottverdammter Yankee! HABEN SIE MICH VERSTANDEN?!?!?!“ „Yes Sir, Sergeant McCarthy, Sir!!!“
Ich bog um eine dunkle Ecke. Da war es mir, als wenn ich McCarthy nochmals hören würde:
„Seht Ihr dieses Loch! Seht Ihr das! Ihr denkt, das sei ein Sumpfloch! Bullshit!!!!
Charlie hat keine Sumpflöcher! Er MACHT sie! Er lebt da drin! Und er kommt auch da wieder raus!! In Euren tiefsten Alpträumen ist er dann da! Er ist Eure ganz persönliche Apokalypse! Habt Ihr mich verstanden! Eure Apokalypse! Jetzt und morgen! Wisst Ihr was ich meine!!!“
„Yes Sir, Sergeant McCarthy, Sir!!!“
Verdammt. Ich musste die dunklen Gedanken hier in der Düsternis verdrängen.
„Waaaar, chhhiiilllllldddrrrrrreeeeeeennnnnn. It’s just a shot away, it’s just a shot away…..”, summte ich leise vor
Verdammt.
Erst McCarthy, dann die Stones.
Der Irrsinn in NAM hatte mich wieder.
Ich wusste genau, dass Charlie hier irgendwo lauerte.
„Wir müssen den Zugang zu diesem Versorgungslager finden“, flüsterte mir der Duke in dem Moment zu. Ich nickte.
Dann hörten wir Charlie direkt vor uns. Wir feuerten in die Dunkelheit. Blitze erhellten den Tunnel, und hin und wieder hatte ich das Gefühl Gesichter zu entdecken.
Während wir hier unten kämpften, führte Smith den M113 nach vorne. Coldsteel ging in dessen Deckung mit nach vorne.
Dann tauchte ein Scharfschütze des VC auf. Coldsteel brach schwer verwundet zusammen.
„Miller. Hier Svenson. Wir gehen hier wieder raus“.
Svenson hatte erkannt, dass er im Tunnel nicht weiterkam. Sein Trupp ging wieder nach oben und blies den Eingang in die Luft.
Sein Versuch den M113 nach vorne zu bringen scheiterte. Er fuhr auf eine Mine und explodierte. Beim Ausbooten erwischte es dann auch noch die Besatzung.
Smith evakuierte mittlerweile Coldsteel. Der Junge war gut. Kümmerte sich aufopfernd um die Kameraden.
Wir waren jetzt allein in den Gängen.
„Evakuieren!“, befahl der Duke.
Wir stürmten nach oben und sprengten ebenfalls den Eingang.
Irgendwann würde Charlie nur noch ein Loch haben. Und da würde er rauskommen und wir würden ihn erwarten.
Smith hatte mittlerweile Fireteam Charlie in den Tunnel befohlen. Dort wurde er allerdings kalt erwischt.
Mad Dog Murphy ging jetzt auch in den Tunnel.
Gleichzeitig orderte Smith Rambowski und Zobowski.
Jetzt war Charlie hier unten im Tunnel in der Zange.
Svenson schickte Forrest noch zur Unterstützung nach unten.
Der Duke, Henderson und ich bewegten uns vorsichtig auf den nächsten Tunneleingang zu.
Während wir dies taten, brummte mir mein Kopf von den Funksprüchen, die jetzt pausenlos hereinkamen.
„Beweg mich auf Verwundete zu.“ „Verdammt. Überall VC!“ „RAMBOWSKI. Schieß nach vorne verdammt!“ „Forrest. Forrest. Laaaauuuuuffffffff….“
Dann erreichten auch wir erneut einen Tunneleingang.
Als ich die daneben liegende Hütte sah, hörte ich nur “Gimme shelter“ in meinem Kopf.
Aber Schutz war nicht angesagt.
Wir mussten wieder runter in die Dunkelheit.
Hier unten entdeckten wir jetzt endlich den Eingang zum Versorgungsposten.
Im Grunde hatten wir das Ziel erreicht.
Aber im anschließenden Nahkampf waren unsere Verluste so hoch, dass der Kampf für uns verlorenging.
Der dramatischste Moment war der, als der Duke neben mir zusammensackte. Er war schwer verletzt.
Wir schafften ihn und ein paar andere noch aus den Höhlen heraus. Dann wurde auch ich ohnmächtig.
Ich erwachte erst wieder im Medevac als wir über das Schlachtfeld schwebten.
Keine Ahnung, wer mich da hineingehievt hatte.
Ob wir verloren hatten, wusste ich nicht.
Wer von den Teams überlebt hatte, wusste ich nicht.
Ob der Duke doch noch am Ende irgendwie gerettet wurde, wusste ich auch nicht.
Ich wusste nur, dass ich irgendwohin gebracht werden wollte, wo ich Schutz, Ruhe und ein Obdach bekam.
„Gimme shelter“, sang es in meinem Kopf. Dann fiel ich erneut in Ohnmacht.
Die Partie wurde wie immer mit den angepassten Force on Force Regeln gespielt, die sich auch diesmal wieder bewähren konnten.
Stefan kommandierte gemeinsam mit Jürgen den Vietcong. Sven, Dennis und ich führten jeweils die oben beschriebenen Einheiten.
Natürlich war ich wieder für den großen Rumms direkt zu Beginn des Spiels verantwortlich. Ich provoziere immer wieder Verluste, weil… ich einfach zu unkonzentriert spiele.
Das Spiel fühlte sich wieder einmal sehr realistisch an. Vor allem, weil wir es auf zwei Platten spielten, wie man sehen kann. Zum einen "oben im Dschungel", dann unten in den Tunnelgängen.
Grandios die Idee, die Jürgen da entwickelt hatte.
Da allerdings unser Bodycount zu gering war, verloren wir letztendlich das Spiel.
Seit wir die Regeln für den Vietcong dahingehend geändert haben, dass auch diese Einheiten den Rettungswurf auf dem W8 anstatt auf einem W6 machen können, gibt es geringere Verluste. Somit kamen wir in diesem Spiel nur noch zu einem Verlustverhältnis von 1:5, was wiederum zu niedrig ist, um das Spiel zu gewinnen.
Regeltechnisch haben die Amerikaner das Spiel verloren.
Angefühlt hat es sich aber wie ein Unentschieden, denn es war uns gelungen das Versorgungslager zu entdecken, die meisten Tunneleingänge und Feldbefestigungen des VC zu sprengen und dem VC auch die größere Zahl an Verlusten beizubringen.
Aber. Regeln sind Regeln.
Ich hoffe, dass wir uns schon bald zu einem erneuten Spiel treffen. Irgendwie müssen wir es hinkriegen mindestens 2 x im Jahr nach Vietnam zu gehen.
Ein Muss, weil die Regeln immer wieder Spaß machen.
"Ooh,
a storm is threatening, my very life today, If I don't get some shelter, Ooh
yeah I'm gonna fade away."
I thought of this line of text from Gimme Shelter by the Stones for a moment as the storm tossed us back and forth on the rickety benches in that damn military truck.
It was raining like buckets in this shitty country. Lightning flashed over us, the storm swept leaves, twigs, even whole branches over the damned paths that were called streets here. Our drivers cursed every stone, every pothole they hit. And there were a hell of a lot of them in this damn inhospitable area.
But…
What should we do?!? We had an order and we had to obey what the weather god wanted us to do up there in his goddamned sky.
This tour started after the chief told us his Hueys couldn't start.
Damn. I loved the calming fapp-fapp-fapp of the rotors above my head.
Instead, we now had this ...
Slaps in the back, helmets that slid forward, cursing men who tried to hold on to keep from falling off the benches, and in the middle of it all was me, Peter Miller.
"Lieutenant Miller?"
The young radio operator who sat across from me had obviously put the question to me.
"Hmh?" I replied.
"Lieutenant. Is it allowed to ask a personal question? "
I nodded in the affirmative as I put my hands on the bunk so as not to fall on him.
"Lieutenant sir. Why are you grinning? "
I didn't answer him.
Why also. If I had given you to him, he would have thought I was insane.
I just kept grinning.
I grinned because here in this goddamn country, in the goddamn rain, in this goddamn war, I was finally home again.
Yes.
At home.
The radio operator wouldn't have understood if I had told him that he, and all the other bastards in this truck, these damned comrades were my real family.
As my subordinate, he would have nodded eagerly, but he would not have believed me. Because just like other men in my unit he couldn't believe why I was back here inNAM
I sat in this military truck because I had volunteered for my third period of service and was now on my way to my new location.
After my second assignment here inNAM
Up to this point I had had a number of dangerous skirmishes. I saw comrades fall next to me. Heard the screams of the wounded. I dragged seriously injured person backwards.
I myself was not spared either.
Nobody was spared inNAM
If it didn't hit you physically, it eventually blew your brain away. The boys called it brainfuck.
At some point in my case Uncle Sam thought that it would be enough; and i am honest people. I, too, shared Uncle Sam's opinion then, at that damned point in time.
When I got home, I took a deep breath.
My base. The well-known hangars, tents, casinos. Everything peaceful. No enemies. No shots. No tropical heat. No mosquitoes.
None of that damn shit.
The first surprise I got was peace activists who spat after me as I left the base in my private car.
They stood in front of the ban mile at the camp, held up posters against the war, hooted and booed, whenever vehicles or soldiers drove past them.
By the way, there were some damn pretty young girls with them, and yes, for a little while I thought it might be better to join the hippie movement.
Free love, free drugs, free life.
Hmh.
Let's be honest. That’s something.
But; I was an officer, and actually I wasn't supposed to think about that at all.
Still, I liked the dark-haired woman who bared her breasts in front of me where the words FUCK OFF were written on.
Be honest; there are worse forms of protest.
The second surprise that was waiting for me was at home. My friend and fiancé, Mary Lu, must have left me for some guy who was at home more than me.
At least that's what she told me in a short letter that laid on the kitchen table.
At the end of the letter I read the words FUCK OFF.
The third surprise I experienced in a bar, which I walked into with a full uniform, just to drink away all the frustration that was starting to pile up over my head. Behind the bar stood a red-haired beauty and around me were some civilians who looked at me slightly obliquely.
I probably had a few whiskies too much in me at some point when I started trying to convince the redhead that a date with me would be the absolute jackpot. She didn't seem averse at all, but the guy at the end of the bar didn't think that was so good. He got up, came over to me and just said FUCK OFF.
As I sat in the MP's jeep, with one left eye glowing in different shades of green and blue, I thought about FUCK OFF having become a buzzword by the time I was over atNAM
Oh well.
Didn't change the fact that I had to pay the bartender for the jukebox I tossed the guy off the counter into. A couple of tables and chairs that had been broken were also added to the bill. But ... I had the redhead's address; and it was worth it.
Months went by and I found everything so dreary except for the redhead dates, which were pretty hot. I was missing something.
At some point I even missed the goddamn mosquitos, the goddamn rain, the goddamn heat, the goddamned sounds of war.
Then I heard about Gimme Shelter from the Stones. And when the words "War, children, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away ..." were repeated in the chorus, at some point I knew what that meant.
I emphasize: For ME meant, not for Jagger, Richards, Wyman,Watts
or Mick Taylor (especially not for Brian Jones, who was already dead by the
time the song was released).
I didn't belong here anymore. Comfort wasn't my world. I had to go back because I was good at what I did inNAM
I was a good soldier, a warrior who damn it didn't fit into this damn perfect world anymore.
The redhead even understood. She said,
"Hey Pete. That was good with you. Do the thing that you have to do. When you come back, knock. If not, that's fine too. Your decision."
We had a great last night together and we went as friends.
Now I was in that damn truck and yes, I had to grin as I thought about the past few months.
"Men. Check weapons! ” I shouted so unexpectedly that most of them winced.
I was proud to see that everyone reacted correctly. The men grabbed their M16, unlocked the safety lever and reported to me one after the other.
Good.
I was still grinning. But now because I saw that this squad was working.
There were a couple of young guys, a couple of recruits, but also my old comrades-in-arms Mad Dog Murphy, our sniper, the desk stallion Zobowski, who had blossomed into a really good soldier, Doc Tho, our scout, Rambowski our machine gunner, Stuart , the crazy guy with the shotgun and of course Forrest, our medic.
In front, at the head of the train, was Henderson, our M113 squad leader, who was supposed to accompany our truck convoy to the destination.
We owed Colonel Zoran Deer, who planned something really big and wanted the old squad together, to fight back together in our old platoon.
Now the trucks stopped.
We had reached our meeting point Alpha-Zulu.
Here we officers would first discuss the situation.
I jumped from the bunk, of course straight into a nearly knee-deep puddle and cursed loudly.
I hate rain. I hate wetness. I hate mud. I hate this country.
I ran along the motorcade until I saw the M113 command, which had pulled out of the column and stood on the side of the road. I ran to the door at the back of the vehicle and opened it.
Four faces grinned at me and I grinned back.
It was the first time in more than two years that I saw Colonel Zoran Deer, Lieutenant Svenson, and Lieutenant Sour again in a joint briefing. It was almost as if a deadly pandemic had quarantined and separated us. Now we were united again.
We greeted each other first, and each saw in each other's eyes that we were ready to strike again.
I was briefly introduced to the new face, the young Lieutenant Smith who is said to have just graduated from academy. I gave him a friendly nod. Let's see how he would fare in battle.
A short time later the door opened again and then he stepped inside. The Duke. The commander of our company, valued by all of us.
He grinned at us too.
It seemed that grinning was pretty in by now, just like the FUCK OFF at home.
Now that we were complete, the Colonel immediately started the briefing:
"Gentlemen. It's best to get to the point quickly. The interrogation of captured Viet Cong gave us some information about the Ho Chi Minh Trail.
In this sector there should be various entrances to an underground tunnel system. In addition, there is a secret supply depot of the Viet Cong somewhere, from which he supplies the enemy guerrillas in the area. Our aerial reconnaissance revealed no evidence of the supply depot. It can probably only be reached via the tunnels.
So much for the situation.
The order.
We're bringing your squad in with M113 armored personnel carriers. These also act as fire support.
Find the entrances to the tunnel system and explore it.
The top priority is finding and blowing up the supply depot!
A well-trained paramedic has been assigned and can set up a provisional first aid station in an emergency.
If you secure a clearing as a landing zone, a Medevac helicopter is available to transport your wounded away.
There is a Hog attack helicopter in the area of operations that can carry out two more air strikes with air-to-surface missiles.
But be careful: The Viet Cong has been operating in this area for a long time. So he had time to set traps, lay mines and dig positions to protect the tunnel entrances.
Are there any questions up to this point? "
The questions will arise when we are there, I thought to myself.
The briefing was clear and not unusual either.
Typical deployment in this damn country. Yes; I was home again.
"Lieutenant Saur."
"Yes, sir."
“You stay with your unit in the base and take care of the security. We have reports that the enemy is planning an attack. Lieutenant Smith and his unit will take over your part. "
"Yes, sir. Understood!"
Shit, I thought. It was always damn good to have Saur by his side. He was nicknamed "Lucky Dice" with us.
The last time he wasn't with the troops, we had problems too. At that time we thought - for fun of course - he had personally commanded the Viet Cong. Let's see what would happen this time.
No matter how; we set out on the march.
Our ACAV, which was personally commanded byHenderson
In the middle was Smith, assigned to Fireteam Charlie and the MG team from Rambowski and Zobowski.
Svenson was on the right wing. Subordinate to this were Doc Tho, our scout, Forrester, our medic, and Mad Dog Murphy, the sniper. He also commanded Fireteam Bravo.
We rolled forward, stared into the jungle, and didn't mind at first.
“There's a hill up there, so we have a reasonable field of fire.Henderson
Somehow the Duke's words penetrated my head with a dull thud.
Wasn't I focused? Had the long absence fromNAM
I dont know.
Or maybe it was just that Charlie had camouflaged himself damn well and we didn't expect him to move forward unexpectedly.
I was torn from my twilight when the RPG grenade fired tore our M113 apart and I, Henderson, the Duke and Coldsteel, the one from the MG team, were thrown from the inside of the car.
No idea why the four of us survived the whole thing. It was a miracle.
The duke, who was easily caught, straightened up and called out to me.
"Damned!! Miller! Grab the radio! It got the radio operator too!Henderson
We first had to orientate ourselves.
Far away we heard gunshots too. Svenson was probably caught on fire here too.
But at least he had dismounted his team beforehand, and thus no significant injuries.
Doc Tho found the first tunnel entrance and an intense firefight developed here.
"Miller. Please come!!!"
I heard Lieutenant Smith's voice on my radio.
"Smith. I hear you. Please come."
“You got it badly. We'll help you with our M113 to evacuate the dead and injured. "
I had already dragged the first wounded man into the evacuation zone.
“All right, Smith. But keep your eyes open. Individual RPG squads keep appearing here! "
As I radioed with Smith, I lit the first smoke grenade to mark the landing site for the Medevac.
"Medevac. Medevac. Here raiding party Alpha. Injured and dead in Sector 1-1-1. Please evacuate! "
"Alpha. Call confirmed! The Medevac is taking off! "
Fireteam Bravo had meanwhile discovered a tunnel entrance and Svenson decided to prove himself as a tunnel rat.
While Mad Dog Murphy and Doc Tho secured the surface, Svenson commanded the people in the tunnel.
Smith had dismantled his squads by now. He swung himself onto the M113 and drove towards us. He skillfully dodged the fire of the Viet Cong, and he brought a dead and seriously wounded man to the evacuation zone.
Svenson blew up a Viet Cong trench after his squad defeated the enemy. From a distance we could see the cloud of smoke.
Now the Medevac floated in and began the evacuation, which luckily went without any problems.
Svenson later told us that the tunnel he had walked into was "darker than the ass". So he got his boys back upstairs and blew up the entrance.
We meanwhile moved cautiously forward on all fronts.
Charlie kept showing up somewhere and we had to fight him down.
Too bad for us that this did not always take place without losses.
Fortunately, we had no further deaths to complain about.
Then Smith and I reached different tunnel entrances almost at the same time.
Let's get down.
As I groped my way in the dark - the Duke and Henderson in front of me - the voice of Sergeant McCarthy rang in my ear:
“You will learn how to kill! How to find Charlie in his swamp! How to pull him out of its hole, and then what to do with him! Did you get that goddamn Yankee! DID YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?!?! "" Yes Sir, Sergeant McCarthy, Sir !!! "
I turned a dark corner. It was like hearing McCarthy again:
“Do you see this hole! You see that! You think this is a swamp hole! Bullshit !!!!
Charlie has no swamp holes! He MAKES them! He lives in them! And he comes out of them too !! In your deepest nightmares he is there! Charlie is your very own apocalypse! Do you understand me! Your apocalypse! Now and tomorrow! Do you know what I mean!!!"
"Yes Sir, Sergeant McCarthy, Sir !!!"
Damned. I had to push the dark thoughts out of here in the gloom.
"Waaaar, chhhiiilllllldddrrrrrreeeeeeennnnnn. It's just a shot away, it's just a shot away… .. "I hummed softly to myself.
Damned.
First McCarthy, then the Stones.
The madness inNAM
I knew Charlie was lurking here somewhere.
"We have to find access to this supply depot," the Duke whispered to me at that moment. I nodded.
Then we heard Charlie right in front of us. We fired into the dark. Lightning lit the tunnel, and every now and then I felt like I spotted faces.
While we were fighting down here, Smith led the M113 forward. Coldsteel went forward with him in cover.
Then a VC sniper appeared. Coldsteel collapsed badly wounded.
"Miller. Here Svenson. We're going out of here ”.
Svenson realized he was stuck in the tunnel. His squad went back upstairs and blew the entrance in the air.
His attempt to bring the M113 forward failed. It hit a mine and exploded. When the boat was disembarked, the crew was also caught.
Smith was now evacuating Coldsteel. The boy was good. Took self-sacrificing care for his comrades.
We were alone in the corridors now.
"Evacuate!" The Duke ordered.
We stormed upstairs and blew up the entrance too.
At some point Charlie would only have one hole left. And there he would come out and we would expect him.
Smith had meanwhile ordered Fireteam Charlie into the tunnel. There he was caught off guard, however.
Mad Dog Murphy went into the tunnel too.
At the same time, Smith ordered Rambowski and Zobowski.
Now Charlie was tied up down here in the tunnel.
Svenson sent Forrest downstairs for support.
The Duke, Henderson, and I moved cautiously toward the nearest tunnel entrance.
As we did this, my head was buzzing from the radio messages that were now coming in non-stop.
"Move towards the wounded." VC everywhere! ”“ RAMBOWSKI. Shoot forward damn it! ”“ Forrest. Forrest. Ruuuuuuuunnnnn ... "
Then we reached a tunnel entrance again.
When I saw the hut next to it, I only heard “Gimme shelter” in my head.
But shelter was not the order of the day.
We had to go back down into the dark.
Down here we finally discovered the entrance to the supply post.
Basically, we had achieved the goal.
But in the hand-to-hand combat that followed, our losses were so heavy that we lost the fight.
The most dramatic moment was when the Duke collapsed next to me. He was badly hurt.
We got him and a few others out of the caves. Then I passed out too.
I only woke up in the Medevac when we were flying over the battlefield.
I don't know who pulled me in there.
I didn't know whether we'd lost.
I didn't know who of the teams survived.
I didn't know whether the Duke was saved somehow in the end either.
I just knew that I wanted to be taken somewhere where I could get protection, peace and shelter.
"Gimme shelter," it sang in my head. Then I passed out again.
Da allerdings unser Bodycount zu gering war, verloren wir letztendlich das Spiel.
Seit wir die Regeln für den Vietcong dahingehend geändert haben, dass auch diese Einheiten den Rettungswurf auf dem W8 anstatt auf einem W6 machen können, gibt es geringere Verluste. Somit kamen wir in diesem Spiel nur noch zu einem Verlustverhältnis von 1:5, was wiederum zu niedrig ist, um das Spiel zu gewinnen.
Regeltechnisch haben die Amerikaner das Spiel verloren.
Angefühlt hat es sich aber wie ein Unentschieden, denn es war uns gelungen das Versorgungslager zu entdecken, die meisten Tunneleingänge und Feldbefestigungen des VC zu sprengen und dem VC auch die größere Zahl an Verlusten beizubringen.
Aber. Regeln sind Regeln.
Ich hoffe, dass wir uns schon bald zu einem erneuten Spiel treffen. Irgendwie müssen wir es hinkriegen mindestens 2 x im Jahr nach Vietnam zu gehen.
Ein Muss, weil die Regeln immer wieder Spaß machen.
I thought of this line of text from Gimme Shelter by the Stones for a moment as the storm tossed us back and forth on the rickety benches in that damn military truck.
It was raining like buckets in this shitty country. Lightning flashed over us, the storm swept leaves, twigs, even whole branches over the damned paths that were called streets here. Our drivers cursed every stone, every pothole they hit. And there were a hell of a lot of them in this damn inhospitable area.
But…
What should we do?!? We had an order and we had to obey what the weather god wanted us to do up there in his goddamned sky.
This tour started after the chief told us his Hueys couldn't start.
Damn. I loved the calming fapp-fapp-fapp of the rotors above my head.
Instead, we now had this ...
Slaps in the back, helmets that slid forward, cursing men who tried to hold on to keep from falling off the benches, and in the middle of it all was me, Peter Miller.
"Lieutenant Miller?"
The young radio operator who sat across from me had obviously put the question to me.
"Hmh?" I replied.
"Lieutenant. Is it allowed to ask a personal question? "
I nodded in the affirmative as I put my hands on the bunk so as not to fall on him.
"Lieutenant sir. Why are you grinning? "
I didn't answer him.
Why also. If I had given you to him, he would have thought I was insane.
I just kept grinning.
I grinned because here in this goddamn country, in the goddamn rain, in this goddamn war, I was finally home again.
Yes.
At home.
The radio operator wouldn't have understood if I had told him that he, and all the other bastards in this truck, these damned comrades were my real family.
As my subordinate, he would have nodded eagerly, but he would not have believed me. Because just like other men in my unit he couldn't believe why I was back here in
I sat in this military truck because I had volunteered for my third period of service and was now on my way to my new location.
After my second assignment here in
Up to this point I had had a number of dangerous skirmishes. I saw comrades fall next to me. Heard the screams of the wounded. I dragged seriously injured person backwards.
I myself was not spared either.
Nobody was spared in
If it didn't hit you physically, it eventually blew your brain away. The boys called it brainfuck.
At some point in my case Uncle Sam thought that it would be enough; and i am honest people. I, too, shared Uncle Sam's opinion then, at that damned point in time.
When I got home, I took a deep breath.
My base. The well-known hangars, tents, casinos. Everything peaceful. No enemies. No shots. No tropical heat. No mosquitoes.
None of that damn shit.
The first surprise I got was peace activists who spat after me as I left the base in my private car.
They stood in front of the ban mile at the camp, held up posters against the war, hooted and booed, whenever vehicles or soldiers drove past them.
By the way, there were some damn pretty young girls with them, and yes, for a little while I thought it might be better to join the hippie movement.
Free love, free drugs, free life.
Hmh.
Let's be honest. That’s something.
But; I was an officer, and actually I wasn't supposed to think about that at all.
Still, I liked the dark-haired woman who bared her breasts in front of me where the words FUCK OFF were written on.
Be honest; there are worse forms of protest.
The second surprise that was waiting for me was at home. My friend and fiancé, Mary Lu, must have left me for some guy who was at home more than me.
At least that's what she told me in a short letter that laid on the kitchen table.
At the end of the letter I read the words FUCK OFF.
The third surprise I experienced in a bar, which I walked into with a full uniform, just to drink away all the frustration that was starting to pile up over my head. Behind the bar stood a red-haired beauty and around me were some civilians who looked at me slightly obliquely.
I probably had a few whiskies too much in me at some point when I started trying to convince the redhead that a date with me would be the absolute jackpot. She didn't seem averse at all, but the guy at the end of the bar didn't think that was so good. He got up, came over to me and just said FUCK OFF.
As I sat in the MP's jeep, with one left eye glowing in different shades of green and blue, I thought about FUCK OFF having become a buzzword by the time I was over at
Oh well.
Didn't change the fact that I had to pay the bartender for the jukebox I tossed the guy off the counter into. A couple of tables and chairs that had been broken were also added to the bill. But ... I had the redhead's address; and it was worth it.
Months went by and I found everything so dreary except for the redhead dates, which were pretty hot. I was missing something.
At some point I even missed the goddamn mosquitos, the goddamn rain, the goddamn heat, the goddamned sounds of war.
Then I heard about Gimme Shelter from the Stones. And when the words "War, children, it's just a shot away, it's just a shot away ..." were repeated in the chorus, at some point I knew what that meant.
I emphasize: For ME meant, not for Jagger, Richards, Wyman,
I didn't belong here anymore. Comfort wasn't my world. I had to go back because I was good at what I did in
I was a good soldier, a warrior who damn it didn't fit into this damn perfect world anymore.
The redhead even understood. She said,
"Hey Pete. That was good with you. Do the thing that you have to do. When you come back, knock. If not, that's fine too. Your decision."
We had a great last night together and we went as friends.
Now I was in that damn truck and yes, I had to grin as I thought about the past few months.
"Men. Check weapons! ” I shouted so unexpectedly that most of them winced.
I was proud to see that everyone reacted correctly. The men grabbed their M16, unlocked the safety lever and reported to me one after the other.
Good.
I was still grinning. But now because I saw that this squad was working.
There were a couple of young guys, a couple of recruits, but also my old comrades-in-arms Mad Dog Murphy, our sniper, the desk stallion Zobowski, who had blossomed into a really good soldier, Doc Tho, our scout, Rambowski our machine gunner, Stuart , the crazy guy with the shotgun and of course Forrest, our medic.
In front, at the head of the train, was Henderson, our M113 squad leader, who was supposed to accompany our truck convoy to the destination.
We owed Colonel Zoran Deer, who planned something really big and wanted the old squad together, to fight back together in our old platoon.
Now the trucks stopped.
We had reached our meeting point Alpha-Zulu.
Here we officers would first discuss the situation.
I jumped from the bunk, of course straight into a nearly knee-deep puddle and cursed loudly.
I hate rain. I hate wetness. I hate mud. I hate this country.
I ran along the motorcade until I saw the M113 command, which had pulled out of the column and stood on the side of the road. I ran to the door at the back of the vehicle and opened it.
Four faces grinned at me and I grinned back.
It was the first time in more than two years that I saw Colonel Zoran Deer, Lieutenant Svenson, and Lieutenant Sour again in a joint briefing. It was almost as if a deadly pandemic had quarantined and separated us. Now we were united again.
We greeted each other first, and each saw in each other's eyes that we were ready to strike again.
I was briefly introduced to the new face, the young Lieutenant Smith who is said to have just graduated from academy. I gave him a friendly nod. Let's see how he would fare in battle.
A short time later the door opened again and then he stepped inside. The Duke. The commander of our company, valued by all of us.
He grinned at us too.
It seemed that grinning was pretty in by now, just like the FUCK OFF at home.
Now that we were complete, the Colonel immediately started the briefing:
"Gentlemen. It's best to get to the point quickly. The interrogation of captured Viet Cong gave us some information about the Ho Chi Minh Trail.
In this sector there should be various entrances to an underground tunnel system. In addition, there is a secret supply depot of the Viet Cong somewhere, from which he supplies the enemy guerrillas in the area. Our aerial reconnaissance revealed no evidence of the supply depot. It can probably only be reached via the tunnels.
So much for the situation.
The order.
We're bringing your squad in with M113 armored personnel carriers. These also act as fire support.
Find the entrances to the tunnel system and explore it.
The top priority is finding and blowing up the supply depot!
A well-trained paramedic has been assigned and can set up a provisional first aid station in an emergency.
If you secure a clearing as a landing zone, a Medevac helicopter is available to transport your wounded away.
There is a Hog attack helicopter in the area of operations that can carry out two more air strikes with air-to-surface missiles.
But be careful: The Viet Cong has been operating in this area for a long time. So he had time to set traps, lay mines and dig positions to protect the tunnel entrances.
Are there any questions up to this point? "
The questions will arise when we are there, I thought to myself.
The briefing was clear and not unusual either.
Typical deployment in this damn country. Yes; I was home again.
"Lieutenant Saur."
"Yes, sir."
“You stay with your unit in the base and take care of the security. We have reports that the enemy is planning an attack. Lieutenant Smith and his unit will take over your part. "
"Yes, sir. Understood!"
Shit, I thought. It was always damn good to have Saur by his side. He was nicknamed "Lucky Dice" with us.
The last time he wasn't with the troops, we had problems too. At that time we thought - for fun of course - he had personally commanded the Viet Cong. Let's see what would happen this time.
No matter how; we set out on the march.
Our ACAV, which was personally commanded by
In the middle was Smith, assigned to Fireteam Charlie and the MG team from Rambowski and Zobowski.
Svenson was on the right wing. Subordinate to this were Doc Tho, our scout, Forrester, our medic, and Mad Dog Murphy, the sniper. He also commanded Fireteam Bravo.
We rolled forward, stared into the jungle, and didn't mind at first.
“There's a hill up there, so we have a reasonable field of fire.
Somehow the Duke's words penetrated my head with a dull thud.
Wasn't I focused? Had the long absence from
I dont know.
Or maybe it was just that Charlie had camouflaged himself damn well and we didn't expect him to move forward unexpectedly.
I was torn from my twilight when the RPG grenade fired tore our M113 apart and I, Henderson, the Duke and Coldsteel, the one from the MG team, were thrown from the inside of the car.
No idea why the four of us survived the whole thing. It was a miracle.
The duke, who was easily caught, straightened up and called out to me.
"Damned!! Miller! Grab the radio! It got the radio operator too!
We first had to orientate ourselves.
Far away we heard gunshots too. Svenson was probably caught on fire here too.
But at least he had dismounted his team beforehand, and thus no significant injuries.
Doc Tho found the first tunnel entrance and an intense firefight developed here.
"Miller. Please come!!!"
I heard Lieutenant Smith's voice on my radio.
"Smith. I hear you. Please come."
“You got it badly. We'll help you with our M113 to evacuate the dead and injured. "
I had already dragged the first wounded man into the evacuation zone.
“All right, Smith. But keep your eyes open. Individual RPG squads keep appearing here! "
As I radioed with Smith, I lit the first smoke grenade to mark the landing site for the Medevac.
"Medevac. Medevac. Here raiding party Alpha. Injured and dead in Sector 1-1-1. Please evacuate! "
"Alpha. Call confirmed! The Medevac is taking off! "
Fireteam Bravo had meanwhile discovered a tunnel entrance and Svenson decided to prove himself as a tunnel rat.
While Mad Dog Murphy and Doc Tho secured the surface, Svenson commanded the people in the tunnel.
Smith had dismantled his squads by now. He swung himself onto the M113 and drove towards us. He skillfully dodged the fire of the Viet Cong, and he brought a dead and seriously wounded man to the evacuation zone.
Svenson blew up a Viet Cong trench after his squad defeated the enemy. From a distance we could see the cloud of smoke.
Now the Medevac floated in and began the evacuation, which luckily went without any problems.
Svenson later told us that the tunnel he had walked into was "darker than the ass". So he got his boys back upstairs and blew up the entrance.
We meanwhile moved cautiously forward on all fronts.
Charlie kept showing up somewhere and we had to fight him down.
Too bad for us that this did not always take place without losses.
Fortunately, we had no further deaths to complain about.
Then Smith and I reached different tunnel entrances almost at the same time.
Let's get down.
As I groped my way in the dark - the Duke and Henderson in front of me - the voice of Sergeant McCarthy rang in my ear:
“You will learn how to kill! How to find Charlie in his swamp! How to pull him out of its hole, and then what to do with him! Did you get that goddamn Yankee! DID YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?!?! "" Yes Sir, Sergeant McCarthy, Sir !!! "
I turned a dark corner. It was like hearing McCarthy again:
“Do you see this hole! You see that! You think this is a swamp hole! Bullshit !!!!
Charlie has no swamp holes! He MAKES them! He lives in them! And he comes out of them too !! In your deepest nightmares he is there! Charlie is your very own apocalypse! Do you understand me! Your apocalypse! Now and tomorrow! Do you know what I mean!!!"
"Yes Sir, Sergeant McCarthy, Sir !!!"
Damned. I had to push the dark thoughts out of here in the gloom.
"Waaaar, chhhiiilllllldddrrrrrreeeeeeennnnnn. It's just a shot away, it's just a shot away… .. "I hummed softly to myself.
Damned.
First McCarthy, then the Stones.
The madness in
I knew Charlie was lurking here somewhere.
"We have to find access to this supply depot," the Duke whispered to me at that moment. I nodded.
Then we heard Charlie right in front of us. We fired into the dark. Lightning lit the tunnel, and every now and then I felt like I spotted faces.
While we were fighting down here, Smith led the M113 forward. Coldsteel went forward with him in cover.
Then a VC sniper appeared. Coldsteel collapsed badly wounded.
"Miller. Here Svenson. We're going out of here ”.
Svenson realized he was stuck in the tunnel. His squad went back upstairs and blew the entrance in the air.
His attempt to bring the M113 forward failed. It hit a mine and exploded. When the boat was disembarked, the crew was also caught.
Smith was now evacuating Coldsteel. The boy was good. Took self-sacrificing care for his comrades.
We were alone in the corridors now.
"Evacuate!" The Duke ordered.
We stormed upstairs and blew up the entrance too.
At some point Charlie would only have one hole left. And there he would come out and we would expect him.
Smith had meanwhile ordered Fireteam Charlie into the tunnel. There he was caught off guard, however.
Mad Dog Murphy went into the tunnel too.
At the same time, Smith ordered Rambowski and Zobowski.
Now Charlie was tied up down here in the tunnel.
Svenson sent Forrest downstairs for support.
The Duke, Henderson, and I moved cautiously toward the nearest tunnel entrance.
As we did this, my head was buzzing from the radio messages that were now coming in non-stop.
"Move towards the wounded." VC everywhere! ”“ RAMBOWSKI. Shoot forward damn it! ”“ Forrest. Forrest. Ruuuuuuuunnnnn ... "
Then we reached a tunnel entrance again.
When I saw the hut next to it, I only heard “Gimme shelter” in my head.
But shelter was not the order of the day.
We had to go back down into the dark.
Down here we finally discovered the entrance to the supply post.
Basically, we had achieved the goal.
But in the hand-to-hand combat that followed, our losses were so heavy that we lost the fight.
The most dramatic moment was when the Duke collapsed next to me. He was badly hurt.
We got him and a few others out of the caves. Then I passed out too.
I only woke up in the Medevac when we were flying over the battlefield.
I don't know who pulled me in there.
I didn't know whether we'd lost.
I didn't know who of the teams survived.
I didn't know whether the Duke was saved somehow in the end either.
I just knew that I wanted to be taken somewhere where I could get protection, peace and shelter.
"Gimme shelter," it sang in my head. Then I passed out again.
As always, the game was played with the adapted Force on Force rules, which again proved their worth this time.
Stefan commanded the Viet Cong together with Jürgen. Sven, Dennis and I myself led the units described above.
Of course, I was again responsible for the big buzz right at the start of the game. I always provoke losses because ... I just play too unfocused.
The game felt very realistic once again. Two tables. One for the jungle fight, one with tunnels. Really great.
However, since our body count was too low, we ultimately lost the game.
Since we changed the rules for the Viet Cong so that these units can also make the saving throw on the W8 instead of a W6, there have been fewer casualties. So we only got a loss ratio of 1: 5 in this game, which is again too low to win.
In terms of rules, the Americans lost the game. But it felt like a tie, because we managed to discover the supply warehouse, blow up most of the tunnel entrances and field fortifications of the VC and also inflict the greater number of losses on the VC.
But. Rules are rules.
I hope we'll meet again for another game soon. Somehow we have to manage to go to
A must because the rules are always fun.
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