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ALPHA TROOP: MEN OF IRON, STEEDS OF STEEL
 

1200, MARCH 26, 1970, ALPHA TROOP’S NDP, WAR ZONE C, REPUBLIC OF VIETNAM
Somebody’s in serious trouble, Capt. John Poindexter told himself as he sat, sweltering, in the stifling heat. The long, tall Texan, twenty-five, was trying to steal a few minutes of downtime after a horrible night of pain, terror, and numbing death among the members of his cavalry troop.
It was well over a hundred degrees, even under the cover of the canvas tent-top that extended from the rear of Poindexter’s M-577 (a specialized ACAV, or armored cavalry assault vehicle). Seconds before, the battalion radio inside the baking command vehicle behind him had crackled to life. Racer Two-Nine was calling Stone Mountain Two-Nine and insistently asking for help.
Poindexter perked up and cocked an ear to listen. He knew Stone Mountain Two-Nine was his current boss, Lt. Col. Mike Conrad, battalion commander of the 2nd Battalion, 8th Cavalry. It took him a few more seconds to recall that Racer Two-Nine was that fellow Hobson, the commander of Charlie Company, also part of Conrad’s battalion. Poindexter had worked with Hobson’s company, but that was before Hobson had taken over a couple of weeks back. Poindexter’s men were soldiering with Alpha Company, a brother company to Charlie, currently under the command of Capt. Ray Armer. Armer was, in fact, sitting just a few feet away from Poindexter, suffering in the same heat and also intently interested in what the radio was pumping out.
From the semigarbled back-and-forth it eventually became clear that Hobson was in a real shit sandwich (a very bad tactical situation). His company of infantry, about eighty men, had inadvertently walked into the middle of a large, concealed, heavily fortified North Vietnamese Army (NVA) supply base. Worse, the complex seemed to be populated by frontline regular soldiers, possibly as many as a battalion. If the NVA were even at moderate strength, Hobson was outnumbered at least seven or eight to one, maybe more. Even worse news: The NVA were entrenched in bunkers. This meant they were safely behind stout dirt-and-log barricades and Hobson and his men were out in the open, or at best ducking down behind much less substantial jungle foliage, fallen timbers, or whatever cover they could find. They had already taken boo-koo (bastardization of the French beaucoup, many) casualties and were getting dangerously low on ammunition.
Poindexter got up wearily and stepped into the back of the M-577. He found a map of the local operations area. He didn’t know exactly where Hobson was, but by the sound of the gunfire that was growing in volume he guessed he and his men had to be somewhere off to the northwest about four klicks away (approximately two and a half miles). He tossed the chart down on the table and went back outside, sinking into his grime-and-grease-stained canvas chair once more.
Four Cobra gunships and two U.S. Air Force F-4 Phantom jets streaked overhead, racing to where Poindexter figured Hobson was bogged down. Artillery rounds, from Fire Support Base Illingworth, a few klicks behind them, arced overhead, trying to reach out to the NVA and cover the stranded Americans. The distant crash and boom ratcheted up and up, the crescendo building, indicating an all-out firefight was under way.
Ray Armer stared at Poindexter and quietly said, “Sounds like they need help.”
Both officers knew that their small command of approximately two hundred soldiers, Sheridan tanks, and ACAVs were the only ground forces within miles that could come to Charlie Company’s aid. They were way out in the boonies, far in advance of the main force, but Charlie was out even farther, probably very close to the Cambodian border.
Both men also knew that the jungle nearby was virtually impenetrable from the air. Unless Charlie had somehow located or manufactured an LZ (landing zone) before they were jumped (not very likely) it would be impossible to send in a rescue force by air or attempt any kind of vertical extraction. If Charlie Company couldn’t fight their way out, and the radio traffic clearly indicated they were surrounded, their only hope was a rescue column of some sort. The only conceivable “column” was hunkered down in the middle of a dry lake bed, licking its own wounds, and separated from Charlie by a couple of miles of dense, choking jungle.
The choices were few and ugly: Do nothing until ordered, in which case the men of Charlie Company would continue to suffer and die without hope; or mount up and charge off into the jungle with every prospect of either getting ambushed along the way or being chopped up in the same meat grinder that was chewing through the ranks of Charlie.
The sweat rolled off Poindexter’s brow, but it was no longer only because of the heat of the day.
*   *   *
The subsequent decisions made by John Poindexter and the resultant actions of the men of Team Alpha are the main focus of this book. Before we learn more about what happened to this redoubtable band, it is important to describe their organization, their capabilities, and how they came to be sitting in that dust-choked depression in the middle of War Zone C, deep in enemy territory.
ALPHA TROOP, THE MECHANIZED COMPONENT The 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment (see appendix 2) traces its roots back to the 11th Cavalry, a much-decorated unit that began operations in 1901 at Fort Myer, Virginia. It was all about the horses at first, but the real provenance of the 11th begins after the flesh-and-blood mounts were traded in for steeds of steel. Reorganized first as a tank battalion at the beginning of World War II, and then converted into a true armored cavalry regiment, the 11th served steadfastly in France and Germany, including the D-day landings and the Battle of the Bulge. After the end of World War II, the 11th, like many similar units, was caught up in a rapid and extensive demobilization effort intended to take the army back to much smaller and more traditional peacetime levels. The 11th was ultimately deactivated completely on November 30, 1948.
No one knew the Korean War was coming, of course, so when that conflict erupted in 1950, the army planners reversed course and reactivated the proud old unit, this time as the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment, and stationed it at Camp Carson, Colorado. The regiment had to be rebuilt from scratch, except for its motto, which remained, “Allons” (“Let’s go,” in French) and its “Blackhorse” logo.
Once the 11th was back on line, it was moved again, to Fort Knox, Kentucky, and the unit was given the task of training reservists. They relocated yet again in 1957 to Germany, where the men took up duties of guarding the German-Czechoslovakian border. The regiment’s overseas duties ended in 1964 and the entire command, now supporting an aviation company, was shipped back to Fort Meade, Maryland. The 11th would remain at Fort Meade until its deployment to Vietnam in September 1966.
The 11th would stay in Vietnam almost six years. The last men out would not return until March of 1972. In that long stretch of time, the regiment would engage in many actions, such as the one that is the subject...