Battle Extraordinaire, World War 1990: ANZACs

In moments, two platoons of Vietnamese soldiers stood triumphantly atop Firebase Crete, cheering and firing their rifles in the air before Captain Cao could get them under control. Already men were searching the tents and rifle pits looking for treasure. Captain Cao shouted ‘Stand to! Stand to!’ But the young soldiers, raised on their father’s stories of fighting the Americans and liberating Saigon from the corrupt regime, would not be denied celebration of their own victory.

          Down at the bottom of the hill Captain Jones gathered his dazed soldiers. ‘Who’s missing?’ he asked. Sgt. Ngata did a quick count. ‘Looks like five, sir. They may be dead, they may be hiding up there,’ he pointed up the hill. The shouting of the Vietnamese soldier came down the slope.

          Sergeant Ngata said, ‘Look, Captain. I was here in ’67. We have to go back up there, right now.’

          ‘What are you talking about?’

          ‘We have to retake our pos. Right this minute.’

          Captain Jones looked around. All the men wore their side arms, a few had rifles. ‘With what? ‘45’s and rugby tackles?’

          ‘If we have to, yes.’

          ‘You’re mad.’

          ‘I know what I’m talking about, sir. We have a little time. Right now the Noggies is jumping up and down and hooting like hell. In a few minutes their officers will get control. By then it will be too late.’

          ‘I see what you mean…’

          ‘Let’s go, right now!’

          Captain Jones nodded.

          He drew his sidearm and fired a round into the air. This got the company’s attention. ‘Alright lads! We’re going back up there!’

          This was greeted with shouts of ‘What?’, ‘Is he daft?’, ‘Does he want to die?’

          Sgt. Ngata muttered, ‘Get ‘em moving, sir.’

‘We’re going right now!’

Ngata jumped in. ‘You lovelies want to go home and tell your girls you ran away from a bunch of skinny, slant-eyed commies?’ He let that sink in for a second. ‘Ran away! Bunch of fine rugby players are you lot!’

There was grumbling in the ranks.

‘Next time, just have your girls play the match.’

Now the men of the heavy weapons company were getting angry.

Ngata shouted, ‘Ka’mate! Ka’mate Ka Ora! Ka Ora!’

The men took up the chant, ‘Ka’mate! Ka’mate Ka Ora! Ka Ora!

‘Alright you lot!’ Sergeant Ngata bellowed. ‘Me and the Captain is going back up! Any of you nancies with us?!’

With his blood up now, Captain Jones shouted. ‘Follow me!’

Sixty-five motley armed men ran back up the hill cheering like maniacs at a rugby match. The Vietnamese atop Hill 184 didn’t even realize what was happening until the New Zealanders were on them. When the Kiwis surmounted the hill, Captain Jones and Sergeant Ngata fired their pistols as if they were in a gun battle of the Old American West. One man ran at the nearest Vietnamese soldier and tackled him rugby style. Another punched a Vietnamese soldier in the face, ripped his rifle from his hands and then beat him over the head with the butt. Confronted with a mass of screaming, frothing Kiwis, the stunned Vietnamese soldiers scattered in all directions. Captain Cao was shouting after his men when Sgt. Ngata jumped him and skulled him with the butt of his pistol. As the Vietnamese scattered, New Zealanders ran to their tents and grabbed their weapons, or picked up discarded AK-47s and fired them down the hill at the fleeing Vietnamese.