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Chapter Three: Yankee Station
- University of North Texas Press
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41 Chapter Three Yankee Station “People will always march off to war, whenever they have been convinced of the righteousness of the cause.” As I was standing watch in the ammo bunker one early morning, Washingtoncamedownthestairstorelieveme.Afterabriefexchange of hellos, I handed him the inventory sheet listing every round in the bunker. “If anybody gives a damn,” I said, “We have nine hundred ninety-one 81mm rounds, three boxes of M-16 ammo, and one brand new mortar.” Then ironically as an afterthought, I wondered how big of a crater it would leave if the bunker happened to blow up. He said, “I don’t know, man. But as long as gooks don’t use any of those delayed fuses, we’ll be okay.” The delayed fuse was something we all came to fear and despise. Normally fired by an NVA 130mm or a 152mm artillery piece, the round would burrow into the ground about ten feet deep before it exploded. Used as an anti-bunker shell, it wasn’t much of a threat to a person standing some distance away, but it was murder on underground bunkers. One could always tell when the NVA were using 42 Ground Pounder delayed fuses, because you would hear a sickening thud right before the round exploded. When I finally reached our living quarters, everybody was still asleep. So I tiptoed over to the desk and began preparing an unappetizing breakfast of mushy beans and weenies. Then as I was about to light a heat tablet, a salvo of 152mm artillery rounds came screaming intoourarea.Onlythistime,theyhitsocloseto ourbunker,theother guys didn’t even have time to grab their helmets or flak jackets. In one quick motion, everyone dove under his bunk. Evidently, our section of two mortars must have really pissed off theNVA,becausetheywereaimingtheirartilleryroundsrightforour bunkers. With each new salvo, one could feel the ground shake and rumble as if the earth itself was in convulsions. While we were hugging the floor for everything it was worth, the sounds of the ripping explosions and flying shrapnel echoed through the thin air. Looking up at the tiny rays of light, I could see streams of sand and gravel trickling down from the bunker’s ceiling. Every time I tried to speak, chunks of dirt and debris were hurled down the stairwell and into my face. Lying in the semidarkness, I felt completely helpless as the rounds continuously marched across our position. The concussions alone were beginning to rattle our insides and destroy our bunker. Between the screaming rounds and the hellish roars that followed, I didn’t believe it was ever going to end. At the time, I kept thinking to myself, “Where in the hell is our Air Force?” But what really shook me up was when I could hear Wallace tenderly praying for his mom. Trying to survive this man-made inferno of steel and fire, we instinctively balled ourselves up into a fetal position and stuck our fingersintoourears.Witheachpowerfulexplosion,welookedateach other as if it was going to be our last moment on earth. The expression of absolute fear and horror I saw in their faces that morning was somethingI’llneverforget.Asthebombardmentcontinued,Inoticed there was a predictable pause of a few minutes between each salvo. [34.226.141.207] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 00:35 GMT) Yankee Station 43 Much like the old war movies I had seen as a kid, the NVA were using thattimetoreloadtheirguns.Thusbetweenthesalvos,theotherguys in thebunker had timeto get dressed and put on theirprotective gear. After taking a quick head count, Chevy asked, “Where in the hell is Washington?” I told him that he was standing watch in the ammo bunker. “Well, I’d better go get him,” he replied. As we stood at the entrance together, I suggested it might be a good idea for him to wait a few more minutes—until after the next salvo had been fired. It was obvious to me that they were about to fire again. In a fit of anger, he told me to shut my mouth, because he knew what he was doing. To my utter amazement, he just stood there and waited and waited. I couldn’t believe it. It was as if he had never seen any of the old war movies. IdoubtifChevycouldhavetimeditanybetter,evenifhehadtried. Immediatelyafterheleapedoutofthestairwellanddisappearedfrom mysight,anothersalvoroaredintoourarea.Onlythistime,itsounded as though the rounds had landed only a few feet away. I instantly assumed that old Chevy had bought the ranch. Then within a matter of a few seconds...