A User Trial
(a section commander's story)
In Vietnam I most enjoyed the ambush; you see it is static,
And if you use your head you can kill from the comfort without using
Fire and movement (a physical business).
And in ambush you are positioned as part of a group, without the usual
Responsibilities. They are assumed by the ambush commander.
And that is usually relaxing.
Most ambushes happened by night, but one that I remember didn't.
This one happened in the day time and was memorable for a number
of reasons. I remember that my section was deployed like an elbow;
Not an unusual configurauon; three groups, two of them in the killer
group (commanded by the 'skipper'), and one, part of flank protection.
I was there, on the flank. It was the dry season.
Although the ambush had a nice killing ground I was concerned at the
lack of cover to its flank and my particular front.
My concern was that the track on which we had been placed curved about
my section's elbow and that we of flank protection could not see for
more than six feet into the secondary growth between it and us. It
was good concealment, sure, but no barrier to physical assault.
The plan was that the 'skipper' would spring the ambush with his M-16.
He would know the exact time to do this because Sergeant John Maloney had
some sort of deal with him. It was attached by wire to two metal spigots buried in the
ground to either flank of our positon, and would transmit
to him the ground vibraton of our quarry's approach. It was a trial
equipment and not used before. A neat, early warning device, we thought.
Our mines were to be fired into the killing ground once the
'Skipper's' burst of fire had signalled the ambush to begin.
and my section's mines were controlled by Lance-Corporal Frank Chambers.
He could compile workable piquet lists, in the rain, with
staggered sentry times; something I could never do. So I was content with
my lot, excepting that little patch of scrub to my front.
I remember that the day was hot and very lazy. Each group in the ambush
had one man alert, and the guns were manned of course. Other wise
we sprawled at ease, hunting the shade, fantasy, mind escape. John will give
plenty of warning; remember the O'group? These spigots live on the end of
one hundred metres of wire and transmit the ground vibration of
approaching footfalls. One hundred metres is a good distance.
We thought, but then the day exploded with a roar. Black, swirling
clouds of dust put out the sun. Something hot plinked my side.
Dust and overwhelming noise precluded communication, with anybody.
My mind screamed. "What happened to the bloody signal, John -
The f----g early warning?' And I began to hurl hand-grenades
As high and as far to my front as I could.
Take up the grenade;
Rotate the safety-bail (why didn't we have these in Australia?).
Ease out the pin.
Rise up to draw back the arm, let
Fly the lever then hurl the grenade.
Count three, crouch, take up the grenade.
Ingleburn might raise its hands, horrified; but my air-busting
hand-grenades were based on the premise that we had engaged a small
advance party, and I meant to deter its main body from forming up on
the other side of my bit of scrub and assaulting through it from
ground that might be dead. We were blind you see. The noise began to falter
Eventually and the echo of our guns died away with the gently settling dust.
Having thrown all my grenades I had taken up my rifle, waiting.
a distant voice strains and husks its way through the
deafening, unnatural quiet. Gradually its message gains coherence;
Cease-fire. I pass on the order then replace the magazine
on my rifle with a fresh one (it wasn't needed). Frank comes over with the
section's casualty and ammunition count (nobody hurt).
He tells me that some 'nogs', patrolling very carefully, had started
To move into the killing zone. And they had seen one of the claymores
Leaving no other option but to fire it. He sounds
nonchalant, evincing little or no excitement at the killing.
I lean back into the shade of a tree and light up a cigarette
(while the body lies out there alone, quite still and sweating in the sun).
Finishing my cigarette I go to give Frank's information to the 'skipper'.
John tells me that he's with CHQ. There, Guy Baggot inspects my
bloodied side with interest. "Bit further to the left would have given
you a damned good scar" he says. The CSM is cursing our consumption
of ammunition. And the early warning device? The dial, spigots and
cable are flown out by the next chopper. We never saw them again.
Mick Shave
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