The Name of the Game Is Zap, Zap, Zap

The big Negro sergeant was sprawled in a ditch full of water. Over the steady drumfire of the rain came the cough, whoosh, crump of Viet Cong mortars. The sergeant counted on his fingers the seconds from the time of firing to the time of detonation, then lit a drooping wet cigarette and casually announced "Them's incoming sixties landin' over there 'bout a hundred yards. Nothin' to worry about." He took off his helmet wiped his face. "You know, we Airborne, we like to get things done real fast, get in there quick and out quick killin' as we go. Here in Viet Nam there ain't no hurrying. We send five hundred men out on squad-sized patrols every day back at base. And we get nothing. Maybe this time."

Startled Buffaloes. "This time" was the largest combined allied operation of the war, launched last week near Ben Cat, 25 miles north of Saigon The target: a patch of rain forest and rubber plantations known as the "Iron Triangle," which had not been entered by government forces for years First Guam-based B-52s blasted the sides of the target. Then, swooping in over startled water buffaloes and silent paddies, helicopters brought in troops of the 173rd U.S. Airborne and the Royal Australian Regiment. The clearing in the trees was soon a blur of yellow red and green flare smoke, darting transport choppers, and prowling Cobras (armed helicopters). A battery of the Royal New Zealand Artillery moved up by truck. Finally, as a heavy rain began to fall, the Vietnamese paratroopers swooped down among the rubber trees in the biggest parachute assault in Viet Nam since 1963. Soon the troops the four nations joined up, and 5,000 men began moving across a ten-mile front at the rate of a mile a day in a nine-day effort aimed at sweeping the V.C. out of an area they have controlled since 1954--and an area that the U.S. may well want to make a fortified preserve of its own.

Watery Trenches. Each day the patrols snaked into the rain forest clutched by the tendrils of vines, jabbed by thorns and needlebushes, wearily resting from time to time on the rotting jungle mat that teemed with ants, snakes, and scorpions. At night they placed their tents on the squishy forest floor, undressed and burned the leeches off their bodies with glowing cigarettes. Here and there, muffled pocket transistor radios brought rock 'n' roll from Saigon, but fires were forbidden, and still the rains came, filling trenches with water as soon as they were dug.

What failed to come, for all but a few of the patrols, was Victor Charlie. One U.S. unit was ambushed at dawn scarcely 200 yards from its campsite chased the V.C. into a hole. The Airborne troops dropped in grenades which yielded four dead. Was that the name of the game? Hardly. For the most part, Ben Cat was like the sergeant "You go out on patrol maybe twenty times or more and nothin', just nothin'. Then, the twenty-first time, zap, zap, zap, you get hit--and Victor Charlie fades into the jungle before you can close with him." Frustrating as it was for the men slogging through the mud and rain, Ben Cat was a job that had to be done: in the burgeoning role of the U.S. in Viet Nam, the Iron Triangle is as vital for its real estate value tomorrow as for the number of Viet Cong killed today.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.