Billy Palmer by Ronald Zastre
“You play a pretty good game of golf, huh Manny?”
“We haven’t got to the course yet.”
“Oh, I can tell by the swing, you’ve been playing for a long time.”
“Been playing since I was a kid. Played a lot with Billy.”
“This Billy Palmer played golf?”
“Yeah, he was damn good. He could usually beat me?”
“Imagine that. I didn’t take the game up until after I came back so I never thought about any of the guys being golfers. You mentioned you had a son in the Army, does he play?”
“No, not much. Donny is a water-skier and golf and water-skiing don’t mix. The skiing pulls the arms and shoulders making them longer. Now Danny—my other son—he was serious about his golf so he didn’t water-ski, but Donny loved to ski, so didn’t take his golf seriously.”
“I’m not quite sure how to start,” Manny continued as he changed clubs from his bag. “I’m not sure if you want to go back. It must have been a rough time?”
“No, it’s okay. It was a long time ago, and I’ve never had any real problems with it, just sad sometimes. Many guys suffered for the stupidity of the whole thing. I’m kind of glad that the truth took as long as it did to really come out. I had a chance to mellow, otherwise who knows how I would have felt, or done, if McNamara had of admitted what he did within a couple of years after that fiasco.”
“Well, I’m looking for guys that served with Billy Palmer?”
Welsh looked at Manny with a doubting expression, then leaned on his club with both arms, thinking for a while. “Gosh, I’ve tried and tried, but the name just doesn’t compute.”
“I was under the impression that you were in the Duc Duc area on June 13, 1967.”
“Duc Duc, yeah, that rings a bell. I’ve got to tell you though, I don’t recall any Billy Palmer. Um, June 13, the 13th.” Dan had a serious look on his face. “You know, the 13th was kind of a bad day.”
“Yes, I understand that. You were seriously wounded?”
“Yup, I was. Lost most of my men too, but there was no Palmer, I’m sure of it. Maybe he was one of the guys that got to us?”
“I think there’s a good explanation why the name is unfamiliar,” Manny smiled, “Billy was a sniper.”
Dan Walsh straightened up, abruptly, a surprised look on his face. “He was one of the shooters!” he exclaimed.
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“The sniper team! They’re the only reason I’m sitting here talking to you. They saved our lives. This Palmer, Billy? How did you trace him to me?
“You put him up for a medal.”
“Yes, yes, I never found out his name though, the sniper teams didn’t like to advertise. I guess the NVA were putting rewards on their heads. Billy Palmer—wow—Billy Palmer, he was the one huh? I saw him after it was all over. Just for a moment, when they were putting me on the chopper. These two guys came up to look me over. You could tell they weren’t regular Jar Heads. They looked like they had been living in the jungle for months. I didn’t realize what had happened, until I was trying to explain it to a corpsman. He said that a sniper-team had been there and they had shot up the NVA attacking us. It was all a blur at first, but when I was in the hospital it all made sense. Do you know the name of the other guy, there were two of them?”
“Mark Tainer, I just visited him up in New York. I have his address and numbers if you’d like. He’s the one that put me on to you.”
“Hell yes! This Tainer, he’s alive and well?”
“Yeah, he’s alive and well enough to chew the shit out of me. Could you tell me about it; what happened that day?”
“Oh gosh, let me think about it. Ah, I’m not sure if I can be all that accurate, but I’ll try. Ah, um, we were on a search and destroy, and my platoon was to circle around a village and set up a blocking force. I was hoping that we wouldn’t have any contact that day. I had three brand new men, they didn’t even have jungle boots yet. Jungle boots had treads, the regular issue boots had smooth bottoms and were a bitch in the slippery mud. I’m not sure what happened, but we came out of the jungle on this trail, and all hell broke loose. We were cut off.”
*
Lt. Walsh screams at his men, as the incoming bullets tear into the ground and the edge of the jungle next to the path they are on. Some of his men are already hit, he can hear the screaming, but he has no idea how many, or how bad. As he tries to reach his fallen comrades, the enemy fires ferociously into his position, the snapping bullets hurting his ears, shredding everything above the ground, violent geysers of mud and water everywhere. The jungle they have just came out of is full of flashes, and he knows the only way to go is in the opposite direction; if there is any hope of getting out of the ambush. He can’t believe that they walked right through the enemy like that without noticing anything. He figures there must be at least twenty NVA firing on him and his men.
He and his remaining men, five he can see, have gotten down behind the back of the trail, but they need to do something quickly. He shouts to return fire, but the nose is deafening and he can see that all the men are pinned down. The heavy incoming fire keeps them below the dike. He knows they have to return fire and he pushes his M-16 up over the dike, keeping his head below cover and pulls the trigger. It feels like ten thousand volts hits his hands. He pulls his hands back down and realizes that the M-16 is gone and he is looking at blood.
He looks to his rear and realizes they are at the edge of a grassy hill and on top of the hill sits a small stone temple. The small field is surrounded by jungle and grass covered hills. The enemy fire slows, and he takes stock of his situation. It is getting foggy and starting to rain heavy. He calls to his men and only five respond with gestures only. He senses that they are afraid, like he is and hesitant to reveal their positions by making noise. He is uncertain on what to do. He knows that if they stay where they are, the enemy can sneak right up to them, the dike affording them the cover.
He realizes, if the enemy moves up to the other side, they can just lob grenades over and it will be all over for him and his men. Lt. Walsh takes one of his grenades, pulls the pin and throws it over the dike in the direction of the enemy. He signals his closest man to do the same, then the next man in line to repeat the action. He knows, that at most, his men are carrying two maybe three grenades each and this holding action cannot last long. He sees that his radio operator is still with him and he decides that if they can make the small temple a hundred feet out in the field, there might be a chance to call in artillery. It is their only hope he decides. He moves laterally to each of his men and instructs them of his plan. He is not sure if they will respond to his commands and move out of the cover, but he decides to chance it. He tells each man that it is their only choice, if they stay there, they will die.
He gives the signal and shouts, running hard and low. The five Marines, with their officer, take off running from the dike, turning, firing back into the jungle to the rear as they flee. One Marine goes down, hit as the enemy resumes firing at the retreating Marines. The rest continue to move toward the shelter of the stone temple. Another Marine is hit, a third Marine, the radio operator, stops and turns to help and is hit almost immediately. Only three Marines remain, struggling up the slope.
The Marine that was hit first is not out of action and has turned back toward the jungle, firing until the magazine in his rifle is empty. He is fumbling around, trying to insert another fresh magazine, when a North Vietnamese soldier appears at the edge of the dike. The Marine has the new magazine inserted and raises his M-16 to shoot. There is a loud, “Snap,” and the NVA’s head explodes and he is driven back into the jungle. The Marine starts shooting at the jungle, but the area around him erupts in sod, mud and grass chunks flung into the air obscuring him.
The three remaining Marines are fifty yards from the temple, Lt. Wash hanging back a bit, looking back to his men that are down. The nearest Marine is lying in a mass of mud and blood, motionless. Sporadic
The three remaining Marines reach the temple, the last one, Lt. Walsh, is hit in the back, as the other two men jump behind the safety of the stone. The Lt. is flat on his face and trying to crawl, to get around to the safety of the temple. One of his men reaches out and pulls him behind the stone.
A heavy barrage of small arms fire erupts from the jungle, directed at the stone. The temple is obliterated by flying chips and the ground around it pulverized. The Marines behind the temple stay behind the stone, as a steady stream of bullets strike the stone and surrounding ground. Ten NVA jump over the dike and start toward the temple, firing steadily to keep the Marines pinned. The NVA move in a line up the hill, one aiming at the first Marine that was hit earlier. The enemy soldier is poised to shoot, when there is another loud, “Snap,” and he flings his rifle out and spins around, going down hard. His comrades either don’t notice or are so intent that they just continue on, firing and progressing up the hill. Another, “Snap,” and the NVA, second from the right in the advancing line, jumps back, his legs flying out from under him and flops hard onto his back. The NVA soldier closest to him stops and looks confused. Another, “Snap,” and this soldier takes a vicious hit in the upper torso that drives him back, violently. He tries to get to his feet, his hands clamped to his chest, blood spurting through his fingers.
Five more NVA are on the dike, starting over. A light automatic weapon fires a long burst from their left, three of the NVA going down, the other two scrambling back into the protection of the jungle.
The lead NVA out in the field, only fifty feet from the temple goes down to his one knee and fires a sustained rhythm of shots into the stone, keeping the Marines pinned behind the cover. Two NVA start to circle wide, to get a shot around the sides of the stone. Another, “Snap,” and the NVA that has moved to the right, grabs his chest, a look of bewilderment on his face. He topples over as another NVA runs up behind him, pulling at his shoulder, turning him around, a bright red splotch growing on his back and side. The second NVA is on one knee, looking around, when there is another, “Snap,” and his face disappears in a cloud of bloody spray.
The NVA that has been keeping the Marines pinned, runs out of ammunition and feels frantically for a fresh magazine. Another loud, “Snap, is heard, the NVA pitching back violently, a following boom coming from the grass covered hill, slightly to the right and beyond the small field the temple is in.
The five remaining NVA are confused, looking around, uncertain what to do next. They start toward the temple again, but their rate of fire has decreased. One of the Marines suddenly pokes his head and his M-16 out from behind the temple and fires a long burst at the NVA, taking two of them out, and just as quickly disappearing back behind the stone. One of the remaining NVA, starts yelling, shooting, and running at the temple. He gets about ten feet from the stone, when there is another loud, “Snap,” and he appears to run into a brick wall, bouncing back, sitting down hard, and another, “Boom,” resounding from the hill. He looks startled and slowly tips over on his side, twitching, a stream of blood spurting out of his chest.
Another Marine pokes out from the temple to fire, but one of the NVA is able to shoot first, hitting the Marine in the upper chest, the Marine going down hard and not moving. The NVA that did the shooting, starts toward the temple, firing paced shots into the stone to keep the two remaining Marines back behind it. The NVA is five feet from getting around and getting a clear shot at the Marines when another loud, “Snap,” coincides with his head disintegrating. The body tips forward, starting toward the ground, as another “Boom,” emanates from the far jungle. Another NVA rushes forward, and another, “Snap,” signals his demise, the following “Boom,” coming from the same location in the far off jungle. The last remaining NVA, the one to the left, runs toward the temple, reaching the side of it.
“I was hit really bad, twice actually, and Ellington was the only one left still able to fight.” Walsh continued, almost out of breath. “I can’t really remember exactly how it went, but Ellington had gone around one of the sides. I’m not sure left or right, and was banging it out with whoever. Screaming, ‘Fuckin take this,’ or something like that. I was propped up on the back of the stone and turned in the opposite direction of Ellington. I had my forty-five out with my good hand and had it stuck out in front of me. I just remember this NVA, all of a sudden, right there in front of me, that fuckin AK, and I’m looking right down the barrel. I was trying to raise my forty-five and this NVA, just drops, I don’t know? I was in bad shape, but I can remember this NVA is hammered, or something like that. One moment he is standing right there, ready to kill me, and the next he is down, and the only memory of that whole war, that really sticks out in my mind, is the ‘Ooof’ that guy made. It’s not clear, but the next thing I know a corpsman is working on me.”
“I asked him what had happened and he said we were lucky as shit the shooters had been there? I made out the report and recommended whoever had saved our asses a medal, but I never got the names. I guess the Corps was reluctant to identify the snipers and I didn’t press the issue.
“Ellington came to see me in the hospital; he was the only one without a scratch, but he said he had a chunk out of one boot, a gash in his web belt, a magazine with a hole in it, and he was covered in C-rations because two cans in his pack stopped bullets.”
Welsh stopped and thought for a moment. “How do you know it was your buddy Palmer? How can you be sure?”
“I just found out he received the silver star for the action you described.”
“Just found out? I thought you were friends, how is that possible?”
“Billy never said anything about any medals to us. Never said anything about Vietnam.”
“What can you say?” Dan said with a sound of reverence in his voice. “It’s not something that anyone can really understand, unless they can say, ‘Been there done that, experienced it.’”
“I never figured that the guy,” Dan continued, “that saved our lives enjoyed this game. Over there golf was so foreign, so alien to our thoughts. We played football, basketball, baseball, pool, they even had a bowling alley in Da Nang, but golf was a totally exotic thing for me back then.”
*
Manny thoroughly enjoyed the day of golf with Walsh. Usually an outing on the golf course took the edge off him and he could go on home, relax and get into bed early. Normally he could also relax in a motel room, but this evening he felt like getting out, traveling a little.
*
Manny checked out, rented a car, and headed north, toward Georgia. He figured to rent a room someplace up there, then reschedule his flight the next day.
How does someone survive that kind of terror? Manny contemplated as he drove down the highway, the story Walsh had told him still fresh in his mind.
How can they continue to function after something like that? Manny was again going over the story Dan Walsh had told him.
“Christ, I’d fold up, I know I would,” Manny said to himself. “I don’t know how else I’d get through something so intense. What does it take to operate in chaos like that?” The intensity of the narration by the ex-Marine Lieutenant had stimulated something in Manny.
He had seen all the new war movies, the stark reality of Saving Private Ryan had moved him, but hearing the details from someone that had experienced s
*
He entered the state of Georgia as it got dark, the full moon just rising up from the horizon. Manny left the main highway, opting for the back roads sometime around midnight. The full moon was at its zenith in the night sky, bathing the highway and surrounding landscape with its soft white light. He drove until he came to a long skinny lake, surrounded by trees and small hills. The lake’s surface gleamed silver in the moonlight. He turned off onto a small paved road, heading away from the water, heading deeper into the surrounding forest. The road meandered up a valley flanked by large trees and thick brush. He rounded a corner and pulled off into a small overlook on the right side of the road. The ground dropped away from the road.
*
Manny was tired of driving and stopped the car. The heavy growth along both sides of the road looked almost impenetrable. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for as he got out of the car and walked over to the thick vegetation. He parted the first layer, a tangle of bushes under the large trees that spread their branches over the road. There was enough of the moons light filtering through the trees for Manny to see a little and he stepped from the road into the forest.
Manny crashed through the thick undergrowth for a few feet and was ready to turn around when he came to a break in the foliage. It wasn’t much, but appeared to be a game trail. Manny still had to walk bent over to take advantage of the trail as he continued on. The trail moved off to the left, gradually descending the hill. A hundred feet ahead, the trail reached the bottom of the slope and started gradually up the next hill. The vegetation on the next hill was a little less dense because the many large trees shielded the ground from direct sunlight. Part way up the slope, Manny came to a rock cap, an outcrop of granite forming a large bald spot in the ever encompassing vegetation. Manny detoured a little left, going up the smooth rock. The climbing was harder, the angle was slightly steeper and it was difficult getting solid footing. The smooth cap was coated with a thin film of tiny grains of sand. Manny climbed the outcrop to where it dove back into the earth, and the vegetation took over again. There were larger trees here, the undergrowth less dense, and Manny could see some large rocks protruding up on the crest of the hill.