What team Baker could never have known however, was that Garner himself happened to be on one of the helicopters currently flying above them
There were always SOG teams missing in action in that area. From the moment they’d lost sight of the Baker team however, Garner intermittently accompanied the rescue teams out. Only now and again mind you, when time permitted, and when there were activated emergency beepers involved. In fact, that day there were.
After seeing the smoke from the first grenade, Garner and his two Hueys had not only located a team of two fleeing from North Vietnamese soldiers, but a whole other group too, as they crossed the river. It did not take a genius to know that anyone who used a rope to cross a river, despite the presence of a bridge, had to be fleeing VCs. At any rate, the Hueys could not get close enough to recognize any faces because of all the incoming fire. So, exactly who the hell were those men anyways?
Considering how tall they were at that distance, they may have been Americans. Then again, they were holding AKs.
They looked and moved just like SOG men by all accounts, but they were in such a bad shape and poorly armed that they were more like a local militia than a SOG team.
Moreover, there was no reason for anyone to be in that area. It was too many clicks from any recent area of operations either. In fact, while they were looking for the emergency beeper, Garner and the others had even expressed concerns about a potential ambush. In the past, the Vietcong had occasionally got hold of some fallen soldier’s emergency beeper, and subsequently used them to lure rescue teams into ambushes.
Whatever the situation at hand was, there was nothing those two scouting Hueys could do for the two being chased.
Despite that, having to watch the scene from above and knowing there was nothing they could to assist was terrible just the same.
“Garner to Covey leader”
“Go ahead, Garner”
“There’s a team of 10 crossing the river. I repeat: that’s ten in total. Four are not in uniform and appear to be in very bad shape. I mean, they all look pretty bad, but the unarmed ones dressed as civilians look a lot worse”
“Roger that”
The helicopter turned round to have another look.
“Get lower!” shout Garner.
“But Sir!” protested the pilot.
“Let’s wait a second Sir. We’ve got a Cobra attack helicopter on its way, in one”
“No way! We are going down and we’re going down now” Garner insisted.
He knew perfectly well that getting closer was dangerous but he didn’t really care.
“I said lower!”
The pilot nodded, initiating an upward and then downward movement, bringing the chopper into a dive, as Garner held tight.
It was then and there that Garner really got a good look at them, and boy did he ever. They were big, tall and well built. There was obviously no way of actually recognizing any faces at that distance, but those were American soldiers beyond any reasonable doubt.
He was certain.
“Back up! Up! Up!”
Garner could hear the bullets whistling by the Huey already.
Jesus Christ – he thought
Then he pushed his microphone into his ear.
“They are Americans, Covey leader. I repeat, they are Americans, God damn it. Confirm”
“Roger that” answered Trautman into his ear.
Garner closed the transmission. He would have given his right arm to know what was going through the colonel's mind in that exact moment, but it did not take long for orders to arrive.
Trautman had already made his decision.
-
Those men are missing in action and on the run – thought Trautman to himself.
We haven’t got anyone in this area. Those are MIAs for sure.
It was with that final realization that he acted without any further delay and said:
“Maximum priority, and suppressive fire all around them. From now on, those men are your top priority. Is that clear?”
-
“Roger that Covey leader” replied Garner.
He looked down below in deep consideration.
It was now up to him to manage the operation and not the colonel because he was the one on the field.
Fuck – he said to himself.
That was Trautman's kind of thing though, not his, God damn it. Garner was an analyst or a strategist at best.
A violet coloured smoke screen – he thought then.
The two man team separated had thrown a violet coloured smoke screen.
A violet coloured smoke screen right in the middle of a combat op.
“Maybe they want us to land on the other side of the river. I bet that’s it” exclaimed the pilot interrupting his thoughts.
“Actually, I was wondering what the point of the violet coloured smoke screen was” replied Garner, and then adding:
“Maybe it's a prairie fire”
“That's not the way you call a prairie fire, Sir”
“Yeah ok, but if those guys...”
Oh Jesus Christ... - thought Garner, and that’s when it all came back to him.
He thought back to a long time ago when they were in Fort Bragg and both taught. He recalled one of Trautman’s lessons, one out of so very many, but at that moment one in particular came to mind.
It was a lesson on the usage of special smoke signals but were exclusively for Hueys on SOG support ops.
That wasn’t an SOG team though, so why are they…
Oh my God... though Garner again.
Turning immediately towards the pilot, he shouted
“Jesus Christ! If those men are who I think they are, it won’t be long before they throw another smoke screen. Then the two smoke screens should make a line pointing to specific coordinates. It's a code. It’s a Goddamn code! The line points out the target to destroy. Let's wait for the second one!”
“Are you sure about that Sir?”
“Absolutely. Keep circling overhead, soldier”
Could they really be using one of the Baker team's custom signals?
Could that actually be them?
-
Rambo and Jorgenson came to a stop in some of the surrounding trees as cover. They intended to defend the clearing directly behind them.
It only took a second for the first shots to whiz past their heads.
Rambo heard one fly right past his ear - WHUUUIIIIIIP!
Then the second one immediately followed by the third. Those were AK rounds skimming past him and judging by how much fire he was under, they’d not only found him, but there were multiple shooters onto him.
Moving out into the open meant getting shot almost instantly.
There was more and more happening before his very eyes.
The violet coloured smoke screen had undoubtedly attracted the majority of them. They probably thought a Huey would be touching down to help them in no time at all. The VCs loved shooting down US choppers. Every man, woman and child in Vietnam knew that.
“Let them come even closer, Grizzly” said Rambo.
“You bet I will Johnny!”
Jorgenson shot another couple of rounds with his AK and then made a run for it.
“Now Johnny, I said now!”
“Just one more…”
“Now, NOOOOOOOW!”
Rambo grabbed hold of the second smoke grenade, pulled out the safety ring and tossed it.
Then using the violet smoke as cover, he jumped to his feet hoping they wouldn’t hit him.
This time they just made a run for it not even returning fire or bothering to look back.
-
“There it is! The second smoke screen!” screamed Garner.
“Where? Where? Where?” asked the pilot searching down below.
“There it is, at two o'clock. Nose...”
“Got it sir! If we confirm the coordinates now, it’ll take the Phantoms ninety seconds to strike. The timing is perfect, sir! But we have to act now!”
“You – Garner said turning towards the co-pilot – calculate the coordinates between the two smoke screens”
“Good as done, Sir”
“Then I’ll get on the radio” affirmed the pilot, pressing the microphone button.
“Bravo twelve to Zulu, we need immediate fire. Do you read me ulu?”
Almost instantly, a voice broke the silence in Garner’s headphones. It was the Phantom pilot.
His voice was low and as cold as ice, not unlike a machine.
“I copy you, Bravo twelve. Go ahead”
“Zulu, I am about to give you target coordinates. Once you’re locked on, destroy everything”
“Affirmative, Roger that”
“Eyes open for two of our own down there. Precision fire is required”
“Precision fire confirmed, sixty seconds. Awaiting coordinates”
Then he added:
“Stay online Bravo Twelve. I don't want anybody using this channel right at the best part”
-
All set to cross the river, Ortega turned one last time for a quick look.
The battle may have been raging on but when he saw that wall of napalm rising over the jungle, he just about dropped and took cover himself, no matter how far away it was.
Initially, the giant explosion looked like an enormous blood blister. Its contents furiously amalgamating as it reached for the sky.
The bubble of fire kept its orange, red and black tones for a moment, but then transformed into an enormous cloud of black smoke.
Oh my God – thought Ortega.
Even at that distance, a warm breeze managed to make its way to him actually dishevelling his hair. It was the equivalent to a giant demon yawning directly in his face.
Given the direness of the situation, Ortega asked himself whether or not he would have ever seen Rambo and Jorgenson again.
Probably not.
Maybe I’ve sentenced them to their death – he thought.
Maybe I really have.
Every single one of them had crossed that damn rope by now.
Ortega and Lowell were the only two left and the injured prisoner was all set to step in.
Consequently, he didn’t have time to think about Rambo and Jorgenson anymore.
The team leader tugged on the rope for the umpteenth time, pulling on it with all of the strength. It was still holding up in spite of how many of them had crossed so far. It was still perfectly taut.
“Wait for me” said Ortega.
Lowell had had his injuries for such a long time that he was currently in very dire shape.
Ortega reached for him in the water and then put his arm around Lowell's waist.
“Hold on tight.” said Ortega.
As the water level rose, Ortega realized straightaway that Lowell wouldn’t be able to hold himself up, not by a long shot. He had become too weak.
Ortega clung tightly to the rope and pulled forward with all his might, but the effort was excruciating from the get go.
“JESUS CHRIST, HOLD ON TIGHTER!” Ortega bellowed.
“I AM TRYING!”
One of the two Hueys passed over them again, so far up and visibly powerless and all the while dangerously exposed to enemy fire.
After only a few meters, Lowell had to lock hold his position onto the rope. He was sure that moving even just an inch more meant he’d fall prey to the undercurrent. It would sweep him away, flip him over and he’d end up with his head under water.
Ortega started to push him harder, but the effort immediately became unsustainable, and after only the third push, he had to scream while he did it.
To make matters worse, the gunfire was getting closer.
Although the napalm had cut VC forces by half, napalm, the remaining VCs had finally noticed Ortega's men, and were now making their way towards them.
Shit – thought Ortega.
All of a sudden, Ortega lost his grip for a second, and immediately went under. The effort to get his head back above water was dreadful. This time Jorgenson wouldn’t have been there to pull him back up.
The entire scene flashed right before his eyes.
It had happened one night, about two years ago, when he and the others were carrying a pole over their shoulders along a riverbank in Fort Bragg.
Ortega had felt dizzy and wound up falling into the water.
Despite how heavy the pole was, Jorghenson managed to pull him out of the water anyway with just one hand.
This time 'Grizzly' Jorgenson wouldn’t be there to help him. He was all alone down there, and Lowell's life was in his hands.
The effort to get back from the surface was excruciating, but he somehow managed it.
When Ortega surfaced from the water spitting and coughing, he was relieved to see Lowell was still planted there next to him, thank God.
“DON'T LET GO OF ME” screamed Lowell.
“I won't let go of you” Ortega replied as he gasped for air, even if the tone of his voice was impassive.
“I DON'T WANT TO DIE, PLEASE, DON'T LET GO”
“I won't let go of you man. I promise”
Ortega pushed him forward again, and this time they both had to yell out as they did it.
“I won't let go of you, but you’ve got to try to move by yourself. Otherwise, we are not going anywhere. Ok?”
“AAAARGH”
In consequence Lowell screamed and Ortega clenched his jaw.
Only seconds later however, Ortega’s shoulders were throbbing in pain and they weren’t even at the half waypoint yet.
That damn riverbank just wouldn’t get any closer.
“I won't let go of you man. I won't let go of you.”
Ortega pushed him forward again.
The pain in his hands from holding the rope so tight was getting worse too.
“I don't want to die, please, I don't want to die”
“AAARGH”
“What's your name?” yelled out Lowell.
“What?”
“I want to know your real name”
Ortega stopped for a second, but only long enough to catch his breath.
“Now listen to me carefully, will you?” said Ortega looking directly at him.
Ortega swallowed some water as he spoke causing him to lose his breath once more. He coughed a little but then continued:
“We will make it, Lowell. You have no idea what we went through just to rescue you... There’s no way we are going to give up now. “UAAAARGH” he screamed out pushing Lowell forward for a second time.
“Oh God please”
Ortega came to a stop.
The situation had gotten worse.
Even merely hanging onto the rope was turning out to be problematic.
It was just a matter of time before the safety cord actually snapped. When it did, the current would surely drag them away to their certain death.
Ortega made another effort to move, albeit slightly, but the pain was too much.
It was over.
This time it was over for good.
The next move – he thought to himself.
Think about what the next move is, soldier.
Yes.
And the next move is that we are all expendable.
We have always been.
Ortega made a fist with his hand and even if the rope was incredibly tight, he somehow managed to wrap it round his arm.
“Hang on to me” he said.
Lowell clung onto Ortega like a Koala bear.
“Hang on better”
The two embraced even tighter.
“Ok. Now listen to me carefully”
“Yes, yes...”
“I am going to cut the rope, ok?”
“What!?”
“It’s alright, we’ve already passed the half waypoint, so if we hold on tight, the rope will drag us to the other side”
“No, no, no... Don't do it!”
“As soon as I cut the rope, I’ll toss the knife and hang onto you with all my might. Okay? Everything will be fine”
“No, no...”
“Look at me, Lowell”
“No”
“LOOK AT ME, for fuck’s sake”
Lowell opened his eyes again.
“We haven’t got any other choice man”
-
Krakauer and Barry were still standing on the other side of the river when they saw Ortega draw his knife from his sheath.
“No” said Barry.
“No” repeated Danforth almost echoing.
The blade glistened on the water and despite the distance, it was as plain as day for all to see.
Everyone, including the prisoners, quietly prayed Ortega not to do it. They were hoping for some other way or solution even though none of them had other solutions in mind.
“Don't do it Scorpio” whispered Danforth under his breath.
“Don't do it”
Coletta pointed his M14 at Ortega using his riflescope to get a better look.
Maybe he had an idea.
-
I could shoot the rope –Coletta said to himself.
Without having to cut the rope himself, Ortega could use both hands to hang on.
There’s no way of telling him from all the way over here though, and cutting the rope by surprise could lead to a disaster.
Coletta moved his head away from the riflescope.
There just wasn’t anything he could do to help.
-
“You have to trust me” said Ortega.
“No! Let's just keep doing the same thing! Please, please, please!”
“I can't do it anymore. I don’t have enough energy”
“Please, don't!”
“I can't...”
“Please!”
“LOWELL! NOW YOU LISTEN TO ME, GODDAMN IT!”
This time Lowell closed his eyes.
Ortega continued to glare at him.
“That’s enough, Lowell”
Ortega put the jagged side of the blade onto the rope. There was no point in trying to cut a rope that thick using the plain side of the Baker knife.
“Ready?”
This time Lowell opened his eyes and nodded.
Ortega took a deep breath and started moving the jagged blade back and forth.
After only a few tries, the rope started to unravel.
This won’t take long to snap at all– thought Ortega.
Jesus.
It’s actually going to break.
When the rope finally did snap, it happened so quick that it took Ortega by surprise and the two of them were pulled instantly under water.
The sound of gushing water surrounded them, and everything became dark and brown.
Ortega let go of the knife and it speedily disappeared under him. With one swift movement, he grabbed onto both Lowell and the rope as tight as he could.
He managed to re-surface, but only briefly.
They’d been dragged under once more, but this time it was even worse. They were going deeper and deeper even faster than before.
Ortega felt sharp pangs in his eardrums and asked himself – is it ten feet already? Could that really be?
Then, without warning, the rope jerked back powerfully catapulting them forward. Ortega somehow managed to hang onto it, but his shoulder snapped awkwardly and he was sure he’d dislocated it.
Lowell succeeded in hanging on too, but all at once, they were pulled even deeper into the dark abyss, and the undercurrent was even stronger than before.
-
“Let go of him” said Danforth from the riverbed.
The three prisoners turned together staring at Danforth in complete disbelief, but Danforth showed no fear and glared right back.
“He will only get himself killed if he doesn’t” he said as h turned his eyes back to the river.
“Let him go, Skorpio. There's nothing you can do to save him”
-
Then, out of nowhere, something clicked in Ortega’s head, and suddenly everything made sense.
Nothing in the world could bring them back up. The only way to get back up to the surface, from so far down, and with that kind of under tide, they both had to swim. Swimming meant letting go of the rope though, and letting go meant unquestionably being carried away.
In that dark abyss therefore, Ortega finally accepted the fact that Lowell didn’t have a chance.
What’s more, if he kept trying to save him, he wouldn’t have survived either.
He was sure about it now.
In fact, he was absolutely certain.
Moreover, the further down they plummeted, the higher the likelihood of getting tangled up in branches, stuck in the mud or God knows what else. In all honesty, Lowell no longer had a chance, but Ortega, well, maybe he did. He may still be able to get out of this alive.
Therefore, in the end, the survival instinct got the best of him. Not even the mission's objective (save Lowell, save Lowell, save Lowell) mattered anymore and Ortega paid heed to his instinct.
Ortega let go of Lowell.
He hurriedly used both hands to grasp onto the rope.
This way at least he’d survive. Maybe.
Lowell however wouldn’t let go and, as a consequence, continued to pull him down.
Make sure you don’t hit the bottom.
Because if you do, you’re dead.
With that in mind, Ortega pulled up his foot and used it to kick Lowell off of him.
Ortega didn’t actually see what happened next, but he was no longer bound to Lowell and could no longer feel his weight. It was only then that the rope snapped back and in one swift movement hauled him back up towards the light.
Light. Air.
Finally some air.
Ortega was in such dire need of oxygen that when he did finally resurface he was screaming for air.
He almost died down there.
He’d seriously almost fucking died.
Turning abruptly, he glanced frantically around for a sign of Lowell.
He eventually caught sight of him several yards away but he was practically drowning.
He was at the mercy of the tide and kept going under. He couldn’t stay afloat anymore either.
“NOOOO” cried out Ortega.
Then he disappeared under for the last time.
-
Still staring from the other side, the group sadly watched Lowell drown without saying a word. They seemed encompassed by a surreal silence.
Johnson and Ruckerson looked away, not bearing to watch. Chester however, couldn’t look away and sadly watched until the bitter end.
A second later, there was nothing where he’d been.
He was gone.
It was over.
-
As he got closer and closer to the riverbank, Ortega noticed that the undercurrents around him weakened until eventually he was finally able to stand upright.
Thank you God – he said to himself.
He did not think he was going to make it.
It was weird to be alive.
He was quite short on breath and his arms, well, they may not have been broken but he couldn’t feel them at all.
The pain in his shoulder was so excruciating that he must have pulled it somehow. He knew it wasn’t dislocated since he could move it a bit, but there was definitely something wrong with it.
In any case, he was alive.
At least he’d made it.
Ortega staggered in the shallow water as he made his way towards the riverbank but fell to his knees before reaching it, nearly passing-out from the exhaustion.
Barry helped him get back up and onto the shore.
“It's all over Skorpio” said Barry.
“Everything's ok, it’s all over” he said again.
He then placed a hand on Ortega's chest almost in an effort to help him breathe.
Despite the physical state he was in, Ortega's got a lump in his throat just the same.
I killed Lowell – he thought.
What is more, I lost Carl and Johnny at the same time too.
That was the truth of it all too because when he cut the rope to save Lowell, he’d automatically taken away Rambo and Jorgenson’s re-entry route.
Barry and Danforth tried helping Ortega get back on his feet but he still wasn’t strong enough so they sat him back down.
Four men... - thought Ortega.
We have lost four men already on this fucking mission: two prisoners – Robertson and Lowell – and two mates – Johnny and Carl.
“Skorpio” said Danforth who was next to him.
“I’ve never seen anything like that before. Not ever. Seriously”
Ortega, gasping for breath, turned to Danforth thinking he was taking the piss out of him.
Krakauer went on:
“You hung onto him at least two minutes longer than you should have. Two minutes after you should’ve already been dead”
“You did great, Scorpio” Delmore said too.
Ortega just shook his head however.
No, he hadn’t outdone himself, not at all, not in the least.
He’d been a piece of shit.
On that mission, he believed his decisions and overall performance had been shitty at best.
Ortega was afraid, cold and full of adrenaline and every single inch of his body hurt. Yet his stomach felt cut open by a knife. Cut open by the mistakes he’d made, the shame of it all, and the feelings of guilt. The essence of failure.
He knew it would stay