VietNow National Magazine

Death
A voice inside his head said, "If you get on a helicopter today, you will die."

By Patrick A. Fenderson

They flew into the clearing chopped in the jungle, a tiny hole in the greenery barely big enough for a helicopter to land.

The soldiers climbed off, and the men of Bravo Company climbed on, more than happy to be getting out of that valley. Bravo Company had lost a lot of men in this area in the last week, to ambushes and snipers and booby traps. They were glad to be out of there.

Hills rose on two sides of the landing zone, and it was a place in perpetual twilight, always shaded from the sun. No breezes blew there, and the air was always hot and muggy. The under-brush was thick, and it was like being in the bottom of a bucket.

When the platoon had all been unloaded, and the last of Bravo Company departed, the lieutenant called them together where a trail entered the landing zone. He didn't have much to say except what a dangerous place this was, and stay alert.

The soldier had looked around, at the trees and the hillsides and the little patch of blue sky above him, and thought to himself, just another day in the jungle. It wasn't any worse than anywhere else he had been.

They moved off down the trail, following the dirt track between the trees and along the hillside. They hadn't gone far before hitting Bravo Company's night defensive position. Seeing how late in the day it was, the lieutenant decided to set up for the night there, and the men quickly had their ponchos strung up and claymore mines set out along the trail in both directions.

Just before sunset the sergeant called the squad together. "The lieutenant got a call on the radio. We're flying out of here tomorrow morning. First platoon found something and wants us there. So it's back to the LZ tomorrow morning. But don't get lazy tonight. Keep your f###ing eyes and ears open."

It rained that night, but everything was quiet.

They were on the landing zone an hour after sunrise, men scattered around the perimeter, sitting inside the treeline, leaning against their rucksacks.

The soldier sat at the trail head, where it came into the landing zone. He was looking at an artillery shell wedged in the ground between two rocks. It was a big shell, a 155 millimeter, and it looked odd, just sitting there, the nose of the fuse only an inch from the ground.

"Hey, Sarge," said the soldier, "look at that."

And he pointed at the shell.

"Don't touch it," was the reply, and that was all.

The man next to the soldier had a couple of newspapers he had brought from the rear, and the soldier picked one up. He began to read.

He was halfway through page two when a chill came over him, and it felt as though someone had run an ice cube down his spine. Simultaneously, a voice inside his head said, "If you get on a helicopter today, you will die."

His spine felt frozen, but sweat poured from his forehead, and his hands began to shake.

The soldier was holding the newspaper up, so no one could see his face. His breathing was shallow and ragged, but he got it under control.

He forced himself to breathe deeply, slowly. His heartbeat had risen but was now returning to normal.

What the hell was that? he thought to himself. What was that voice?

Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. And, somehow, deep inside himself, he knew it to be true, that he would die if he got on a helicopter that day.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't tell anyone, they would laugh at him, or think him a coward.

And so he sat there, pretending to read the newspaper, occasionally turning a page, while he thought.

He came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do, and when the helicopters came in, he would get on, and fly off to whatever death was awaiting him.

He had read about such things, men in other wars knowing that they were going to die. But he had thought it was foolishness, until now. Now he believed.

He thought about writing a letter to his folks, but decided not to. He didn't have much to say to them.

So he read the newspapers, and waited.

Noon came and went, and nobody knew where the helicopters were.

"Don't worry," the lieutenant had said. "They'll get to us."

"I can't wait," thought the soldier, and laughed at his own joke.

At two o'clock, the lieutenant said they would be there in an hour. At three, he said the helicopters were on their way.

At four-thirty, he said they would be overhead any minute.

The soldier began to hope they wouldn't make it at all.

At five o'clock, the lieutenant told everyone to ruck up and get ready to load.

At five after five, the soldier heard the rotors beating in the distance; his heart sank.

A smoke grenade went off, and purple smoke drifted up toward the sky, marking their position.

Six helicopters thundered overhead then banked to come in to land.

The soldier was resolved to get on, but there was a deep sadness in his soul. His equipment felt heavier than ever.

The lead helicopter was in sight, slowing to land.

The soldier began to move toward the landing zone.

The helicopter, at treetop level, seconds away from touching down, turned away and disappeared.

They could hear the noises of the other helicopters getting faint. The jungle got quiet.

The soldier went over to the lieutenant sitting next to the radio.

"What happened?" said the soldier. "Where'd they go?"

"Some emergency pickup," said the lieutenant. "Something more important than us."
The lieutenant turned to the platoon sergeant.

"It's too late to leave today. Let's move back to the NDP. We'll leave here tomorrow."

A great weight lifted from the soldier's shoulders. He remembered the words, "If you get on a helicopter today, you will die." Today, he thought. Not tomorrow. And he laughed. He laughed all the way back to the NDP, and the other men thought he was crazy.

May 1971

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In Country: The Soldier's Story
Patrick A. Fenderson served from February to December, 1971, with Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th Infantry, 101st Airbone Division, stationed in I Corps. "Death" is one of 37 short stories he has written about his experiences, making up his book, titled In Country: The Soldier's Story. He lives in north central Pennsylvania. We plan to run several more of his stories in upcoming issues of the VietNow National Magazine.

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