Defense of Hill 781 by James R. McDonough Page B

gentlemanly sergeant could breathe such fire into the men. Several times during the day, Always had seen an NCO fall afoul of the sergeant major by failing to follow up on responsibilities, only to receive a blistering admonishment that left him with a preference for contact with the enemy over another engagement with the wrath of the battalion’s top soldier. Yet for the most part his demeanor was quiet, reassuring, offering encouragement to the soldiers to redouble their efforts, and offering praise for all they had done well. Only at the end of their discussion did Hope inquire as to the gash overAlways’ eye, express concern that his commander take care of himself, and mildly suggest that he take an opportunity to get some sleep that night. Always marveled at the balance in his sergeant major—strength without arrogance, authority with deference, concern without solicitude. There was a lot of leadership in that man and he was glad he was on his side.
    At 2000 Always moved out to his jeep in order to visit the subordinate units as they conducted their preparations.
    “Good evening, Specialist Sharp. How are you doing?”
    “Good evening, sir. Fine, thank you. Sir, I’ve saved you some supper. It’s pretty good. Roast beef, corn bread, and some peaches. I got you some salad, and here’s some salad dressing. I’ve got us a thermos of coffee. Do you take cream and sugar?” Sharp was a good soldier. He had stayed up on the radio all day, following the battle as closely as he could, eager to get into the fight, but prudent enough to wait for his commander’s call before he came up. He had not missed a beat, ensuring the radios were set, recording the call signs and frequencies on a handy pocket card (called a “cheat sheet”) for Always, updating the map, and now making sure he had a full meal for his commander.
    “Thanks, Eric. This is great.” It was the first time Always had addressed any of his men by their first name. He believed in formal address; it went with his strong sense of discipline. Yet it seemed somehow awkward in the face of Sharp’s exuberance to remain so stiff. “Let’s head on over to B Company.” Always wanted a few quiet words with Baker, whose loose use of words had caused so much damage that morning.
    “Did we kick their ass, sir? I mean did we beat the enemy good?” Sharp was eager for the commander’s interpretation of events. He had had several conversations with some of the other drivers during the afternoon, and he wanted support in his high opinions of how well the battalion had done.
    “Well, we kicked them off the objective. But to tell thetruth we paid too high a price for it. We shouldn’t have let them get away either.” Always was aware of how meaningful his comments would be, echoed a hundred times as they passed from mouth to mouth. “One thing you can be sure of—the men fought well, and the enemy sure as hell knows he’s been in a fight with a top-notch outfit.”
    Sharp smiled as he pulled up in front of Captain Baker’s command post. He had a good report to pass on to some of his buddies in B Company.
    Always spent twenty minutes with Captain Baker, avoiding any harshness in his voice, sharing culpability in the morning’s error, and encouraging him for a renewed effort the next day. Bravo Company would be split again, with some of their infantry being helicoptered in on the far objective at dawn, while the bulk of the force, the armored vehicles, would move to eliminate the suspected enemy waiting along the route (scouts were trying to confirm their disposition even as they spoke), and then culminate in the supporting attack by the helicopter-inserted infantry on 781. It was a tough mission, and evidence of Always’ continued faith in Baker’s abilities. The two commanders parted on an upbeat note, Always directing that Baker put himself with his mounted force this time, leaving the senior platoon leader to take the airmobile forces in.
    As he moved