Devil's Guard Counterattack

By Eric Meyer

The fifth book in Eric Meyer’s series about the exploits of a group of former Waffen-SS officers who engage the enemy in the never-ending slaughter in Vietnam.

It is 1968, the fighting escalates, the body count mounts and the fighter-bombers and gunships daily prowl the skies in the relentless hunt for their elusive enemy. Jurgen Hoffman, a former SS officer has fought through the hell of the Eastern Front in Russia, through Indochina in the ranks of the French Foreign Legion only to become embroiled in the arrival of the Americans. Now comfortably running a civilian airline with other former soldiers of the Waffen-SS, their hopes of finding peace are abruptly shattered. Tet, a word that will live in infamy sets the country on fire. It is to become the turning point of the Vietnam war as the communists launch attacks on the major cities of South Vietnam. With their airline in ruins after a mortar attack the outlook is bleaker than ever for Hoffman. When his wife is kidnapped by the Viet Cong, it is time to strike back. The former warriors of Hitler's brutal Das Reich and Totenkopf Divisions are forced to pick up their weapons again and take the fight to the Viet Cong. Once again, Ho Chi Minh's guerrillas are about to meet the Devil's Guard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swordworks Books
• Release date: Mar 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781906512729

Eric Meyer

An internationally recognized expert on the subjects of HTML, CSS, and Web standards, Eric has been working on the web since late 1993. He is the founder of Complex Spiral Consulting, a co-founder of the microformats movement, and co-founder (with Jeffrey Zeldman) of An Event Apart, the design conference series for people who make web sites. Beginning in early 1994, Eric was the campus Web coordinator for Case Western Reserve University, where he authored a widely acclaimed series of three HTML tutorials and was project lead for the online version of the Encyclopedia of Cleveland History combined with the Dictionary of Cleveland Biography, the first example of an encyclopedia of urban history being fully and freely published on the Web.

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DEVIL'S GUARD COUNTERATTACK

By Eric Meyer

PUBLISHED BY:

Swordworks Books

Devil's Guard Counterattack

Copyright © 2011 by Eric Meyer

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

FOREWORD

The Tet offensive came as a massive shock to the Americans at the end of January 1968. The Vietnam War was at its height and General William Westmoreland’s plan to engage the enemy in an attritional battle at Khe Sanh had only just begun. The government and military line for the media and public was unequivocal, the war is being won, the communists are weakened and almost ready to lay down their arms. When they broke the traditional New Year’s truce during the Tet holiday, the shock to the South Vietnamese and more importantly the American government and public was shattering. Their confident understanding that the troop losses were worthwhile, that the end was in sight, were wrecked. It seemed to them that they had been misled.

Despite the fact that the Americans and ARVN inflicted massive damage on the communist ability to fight, the damage to the image of the war in the public perception was beyond repair.

For several weeks the major towns and cities of South Vietnam became battlegrounds and Khe Sanh itself saw a battle for survival that lasted for many months and inflicted countless casualties on all sides. Even when the siege of Khe Sanh was lifted and the communists defeated, the base was abandoned shortly afterwards, awarding the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army a propaganda victory.

The role of mercenaries in the war and during Tet is well documented, as is the role of civilian aircraft flying up and down the country on a range of mysterious errands. Equally well documented was the Phoenix Program, the American policy of using Special Forces and civilian mercenaries, both Vietnamese and foreign to assassinate communist leaders both military and political.

Amidst the turmoil and hell of this critical period there were many accounts of actions behind enemy lines. This is one such account.

For obvious reasons, some of the details in this story cannot be individually verified, but in general most of the events took place and are true. For the rest of the story, I earnestly hope the reader will forgive the interpretation that I had to make to weave the mass of data into a coherent story.

Eric Meyer

INTRODUCTION

At a time when Jurgen Hoffman has settled into his new life with his beautiful French wife Helene, running a growing but small airline in South Vietnam, the communist Tet offensive takes away everything he has been working for. His airline is wrecked, the aircraft and hangar destroyed in a Viet Cong mortar attack. His wife, a doctor, is kidnapped. All he has left are his comrades from the old days, veterans of the Waffen –SS legions that were feared across Europe. Experienced in fighting the communist guerillas from their service in the French Foreign Legion, the brutal fighting skills are the only resource they have left with which to restore their families and fortunes. Valued by the American military as experts in guiding armed incursions into the Viet Cong jungle strongholds, this is the story of their efforts as they work with the Americans to blunt the impact of the Tet offensive.

CHAPTER 1

‘We are at war with the most dangerous enemy that has ever faced mankind in his long climb from the swamp to the stars, and it has been said if we lose that war, and in so doing lose this way of freedom of ours, history will record with the greatest astonishment that those who had the most to lose did the least to prevent its happening.’

Ronald Reagan 1964

I surveyed the wreckage of my whole life, everything I had worked for, fought for, shed blood for. The hangar was partially destroyed, outside three aircraft lay drunkenly at odd angles on the concrete. Two Douglas DC-4s, the big, profit making aircraft that promised to be the basis of a flourishing and successful airline. As well as the Douglas C-47, the reliable old friend that had been the early mainstay of the launch of our new airline. All smashed, destroyed in a series of mortar strikes that had devastated Tan Son Nhat, the huge military and civil airfield outside of Saigon. A salvo of shells had struck the heart of our operation, scoring hits on the aircraft and the hangar, we had counted more than thirty shells in all during the initial attack. Mortar attacks were nothing new to us and we had a sandbagged trench prepared thirty yards from the hangar where we were able to shelter during the raid. With total shock we had watched the attack, seeing all we had worked for destroyed in a matter of a few minutes.

At least we didn’t suffer any casualties, Paul said to me.

Paul Schuster, my companion and partner for the last twenty-odd years. Left homeless and rootless after the Second World War, both of us found that former Waffen-SS officers had little to offer the new Europe. We had joined the French Foreign Legion and fought our way through Indochina. After Dien Bien Phu, the disastrous French defeat, we had built a new life for ourselves with a small airline operating out of Tan Son Nhat. Years of work and sacrifice destroyed in minutes by yet another communist attack, just when it seemed that we were getting ahead. I looked at Ritter, another veteran of World War Two, he couldn’t return my gaze. A brilliant pilot, the aircraft were his life and his loves, now it was effectively over. Emile de Grasse, our chief engineer and his assistant Joe Ryder looked on stonily, like Ritter the aircraft were their life.

I should go out to Cholon, Jurgen, to check on Helene and Sophie, Lan said.

I looked around at her. Nguyen Vo Lan was our office manager, a twenty-eight year old Vietnamese, competent and efficient, she was the backbone of our operation. I wondered why she was so keen to go to Cholon, the mainly Chinese area of Saigon in which my wife Helene and I lived with our daughter in a rented bungalow. My thoughts were interrupted by an explosion as another mortar shell hit the main runway two hundred yards away from us. We ducked down while debris showered around us.

There was a brief pause and everything seemed to have gone quiet. I looked over the parapet of our trench only to duck down again as a machine gun started chattering. Then there were a series of screams and shouts, Paul and I had heard them before, the VC were attacking. The distinctive sharp sound of M16 bursts added to the din as the U.S. and ARVN forces fired back, then we heard the pneumatic drill sound as someone got a .50 calibre machine gun into action. All we could do was wait until it was over, after all, it wasn’t our battle. I crouched down and looked back at Lan, I kicked myself for not thinking of my wife and daughter before now. Thank God she cared for their welfare.

You’re right, it would be good to have someone go check on them. But Lan, we don’t know how far this attack has spread, the VC may have got as far as Cholon.

In which case you’d want me to check, Jurgen.

I smiled. Yes, Lan, thanks. What about Nhu, would it be best if you got her out of here?

Nhu was our pretty, tiny young Vietnamese office assistant, she helped Lan with the day to day business of typing and filing.

Yes, I’ll take Nhu with me if you wish. We’d better get going, Jurgen, I can find a way through the city that keeps us clear of the fighting.

I put my hand on her arm. No, wait until this attack is over, I don’t want you exposed to the crossfire, Lan.

She frowned, but nodded and went over to talk to Nhu. The sound of the gunfire intensified. Paul Schuster looked grim, he would certainly be thinking along the same lines as me. These terrorists had destroyed our business, our future, how tempting it would be to take one of the assault rifles and start seeking revenge. When the attack started we had all grabbed for our rifles, for when the VC attacked there was no rule of law in South Vietnam, it was every man for himself. We still used old but reliable M2 carbines, the compact, fully automatic rifle that dated back more than twenty years to the last days of the Second World War. But it wasn’t our battle.

We waited out the battle, hearing the screams and shouts of both attackers and defenders. Screams of hate, of fear, of pain and panic. At last the firing started to die down and I guessed that the airfield defenders were getting the best of it. To my knowledge there were at least four battalions of troops based in and around Tan Son Nhat, at least three thousand men. More than enough to deter a Viet Cong guerrilla raid. I looked out of the trench again and saw the terrible sight of our aircraft ablaze, total wrecks. The wind changed suddenly and the smoke cleared from the furthest DC-4, to my horror I saw several black clad figures emerge through the smoke, retreating from the fighting and heading straight towards us.

Paul, Ritter, the rest of you, we’ve got enemy coming in.

They could see the direction in which I was looking. I heard the rattle of the bolts as each of them charged their weapons. Emile, our chief engineer had a Browning pump action shotgun, I guessed his poor eyesight made it a more suitable weapon, provided of course that he got near enough to the enemy to use it. His assistant Joe had an M2 like us, we had shown him how to use it on the nearby marine range, although he had never yet used it to fire a shot in anger. I guessed that was about to change.

I looked carefully over the top again, they were nearly on us, maybe fifty yards away. There were ten of them, running hard to escape the U.S. and ARVN defenders that were hunting them down as they ran directly for us.

When I give the word, we pop up and hit them with everything we’ve got, I told them. They’re spread out in a line, so we each need to take the ones immediately in front of each of us. Stand by.

They looked grim, this shouldn’t be happening, but at least it was an opportunity to take some revenge. I looked at them all one by one, checking they were ready, a habit of a lifetime.

Joe, now would be a good time to take off the safety, I said quietly.

He looked startled, flushed red and bent to unsafe his weapon.

Let’s hit them, I said loudly.

We stood up to see the VC almost on us. Paul fired first, short, measured bursts. The M2 only held thirty rounds and like a light machine gun was most effective in quick, well-aimed bursts.

The leader was less than ten yards away, Paul’s shots took him in the body and threw him to the ground. He fired again and the next man went down, I opened fire and took the VCs off to the right of the line, one man went down, then two more. Ritter was firing too, long bursts, he was no infantryman, a former Luftwaffe fighter pilot he presumably thought more in terms of bringing down an American B-17 bomber with long raking bursts of cannon fire.

Nonetheless, a VC went down to his shots. Joe fired several shots but none seemed to have any effect, his boss Emile let fly with the shotgun and another VC went down just before the trench. Paul and I shifted aim and three more went down, the last man made a determined effort to reach us, bleeding from wounds to his hip and stomach. Almost in slow motion, we saw him take out a grenade and pull out the pin. Ritter was reloading, Paul and I were out of ammunition, Joe just stood frozen with fear as the Viet came nearer, swinging his arm to lob the grenade into our trench. As his arm reached the top of its arc, there were two shattering booms from Emile’s shotgun and the VC was flung back, crumpling to the ground.

Grenade, everybody down! I shouted. We all ducked, except for Joe and I pulled his legs from under him so that he collapsed to the floor of the trench just as the grenade exploded with a huge ‘whoomph," a pressure wave hit us, the roar nearly burst our eardrums and the shockwave threw us to the back of the trench.

A shower of earth and grass came down over our heads, and then everything went silent. Warily, I stood up, Paul and Ritter joined me. A platoon of American infantry was heading towards us looking warily at the carnage. They poked the VC bodies to make sure they were all dead and then came over to our trench.

You guys ok? their lieutenant asked.

I recognised him, he had arrived in country only two weeks ago, Joe Wright, a would-be lawyer who planned on having the army pay for his education, provided he survived Vietnam, of course.

Hi, Joe, we’re fine, no problems here.

His eyes went wide as he looked from us to the bodies and back to us.

Jesus, you got them all. That was some shooting.

I nodded. It’s not the first time we’ve had to deal with these gentlemen, I doubt it’ll be the last.

Yeah, ok, he said hesitantly. Well, I guess the Captain will be pleased you got these bastards. I’ve got to check around the perimeter, maybe we’ll meet up later for a beer, he looked at me expectantly.

I doubt it, Joe, we’ve got a hell of a mess to sort out. I think it’ll be a long time before any of us relax with a beer.

He surveyed the wreckage of our dreams. Right, I see what you mean. I’m real sorry, Jurgen, good luck with it. I’ll detail some of the men to remove the bodies as soon as the all clear sounds.

I smiled and looked around at my people as he strode off with his men following.

We ought to get going, Jurgen, Nhu and I, we must check in on Helene and Sophie.

My God, I’d forgotten about them again in the heat of the action. Lan had a strange expression on her face, her pupils were dilated, she was licking her lips, more like a warrior queen than an office manager. Women were strange, I reflected, some were terrified of battle, some hated it and others seemed to find an almost orgasmic delight in its bloody glory.

Are you sure you’ll be ok, Lan? There’s bound to be more fighting around the city.

Of course we will, Jurgen.

I’m truly grateful, Lan, just be careful. Can you contact me when you know the score, if the phones are working by then?

Of course, if they’re still out of action I’ll try and get a message to you through MACV.

The U.S. Military Assistance Command, Vietnam, MACV, had their headquarters across the other side of the airfield from our hangar, or what was left of our hangar. Under their guidance, Tan Son Nhat had become one of the busiest airports in the world, with a constant mix of military and civilian flights taking off and landing at all hours of day and night. I wondered how they would react to this attack on their most sensitive area at a time when their commander, General William Westmoreland, had informed the world’s press that the U.S. was winning the war. So far we had enjoyed good relations with MACV and I had no doubt they would agree to pass on any message during the current emergency.

Very well, do you want to take a weapon?

She grinned. And be shot as a Viet Cong spy, you mean?

Of course she was right, a Vietnamese civilian, a woman, carrying a weapon would automatically be assumed to be a guerrilla, with probably fatal consequences. Only civilians of white European appearance carried weapons in Vietnam.

You’re right. Good luck, then. Give my love to Helene and Sophie, tell them I’ll be with them soon.

The women walked across the airfield, for once it was devoid of the usual chaos of aircraft taking off and landing, all flight operations had been suspended after the first mortar shells hit. At least they looked innocent, two young women in long, ethnic dresses, walking hand in hand. We walked over to the hangar and started to look around inside to see what could be retrieved from the collapsed building. That was when the second wave of attacks hit Tan son Nhat. Our first warning was when the rattle of machine gun fire echoed across the airfield. We rushed outside in time to see a saloon car, it looked like an old French Citroen, ram the main gatehouse of the airfield. There was a huge explosion and the gatehouse disappeared, destroyed by the bomb that had been hidden inside the car. I wondered if the driver had managed to get out before his bomb exploded. The communists could be fanatical, it was quite possibly a suicide attack. Then waves of black clad Viet Cong guerrillas stormed through the open gateway, firing on the run. A squad of ARVN ran out to meet them and were cut down almost instantly, totally overwhelmed by the enemy. I heard a whistling sound and we all ducked as a mortar shell landed out on the apron where many American and South Vietnamese aircraft, both fighters and transports, were parked. An F-4 Phantom fighter bomber was hit and exploded as more mortar shells landed around the parked aircraft. Dozens of American and ARVN troops ran out to meet the invaders and a huge firefight developed again, I devoutly hoped that Lan and Nhu had got clear.

A Willys jeep came hurtling towards us, a colonel of the military police jumped out with his aide, a captain.

Mr Hoffman, I’m Colonel Rathbone, how many of your men here are pilots, we need you to help out?

Three of us, Colonel, how can we assist?

Our pilots are off base, some of them anyway, we want you to get these aircraft in the air, now! Come quickly, Mr Hoffman, otherwise there won’t be any aircraft to get off.

Colonel, what’s happening, have the North Vietnamese invaded?

I said it with half a smile, but his look was serious. "It may be, it just may be. They’re everywhere, all over Saigon, even in the