Where trees
are numerous and a soldier’s eyes and ears and nose are altered, danger can be
circumvented;
That’s
a way a soldier thinks, anyhow.
I
moved through the rainforest with all the assurance of a soldier who has known
no other life—that is to say, after six months the human being can adapt itself
to whatever environment need be.
And
this day already my ears and nostrils had become inured to my surroundings, to such
an extent, I could overhear the Viet Cong, and the familiar sounds and odors of
the jungle, increasing as I silently moved in its direction.
There
are many strange things in the orient, in its jungles, that the western mind
cannot grasp.
To
include ghosts, tigers.
I
have seen them myself, ghosts, yes ghosts, with dirt and sweat on their faces,
and legs, and arms.
For
many this is a mystery.
But
the fact is, they are and remain a fact in the jungles of Vietnam, and
Cambodia, and Thailand;
I
have been in all three jungles, and down the Mekong: the evidence for me is I
have seen the materialization of disembodied spirits on countless occasions.
Seeing
is believing.
In
our era and our civilization this is of course crazy talk, but here I was
following the sounds of the Viet Cong, they were dressed like primitive
hunters, naked but for a patch, perhaps of some leopard or tiger skin, rubbed
to a dark leather like smoothness.
They
were not ghosts of course, they were real human beings.
They
had no boots like me, just rude sandals of no certain fashion.
They
had stopped and lay quiet now, myself almost opposite them, so I could clearly
overhear all they passed between one another.
The
man in charge appeared to have little if not petty authority, for he argued
with all three men, making him the forth, I appointed him the captain.
“Should we return without the American
Nurse?” said this man.
“You are not talking intelligent,” said
one of the three, in Vietnamese which I could understand and now am translating
to you in English.
As the third man stood up, moved about
the fire, I heard him suggest going back
to pick up the American Nurse, this was the captain of course, they had captured an American Red Cross woman, whom
was being kept in some bamboo cage, I gathered a few miles from where they
were.
The longer I listened, the less I
thought them being Vietcong.
Yet
my judgment told me they were some kind of warriors that inhabited this jungle.
Doubtless, of some centuries old village, who came upon this girl, who
evidently got lost from her unit, or had wandered away from one of the
villages, or was kidnapped from one of the clinics, in one of the villages; not
sure exactly what her status was, perhaps a UN, volunteer; the war had been
going on now for a while, it was 1971.
I was mystified by what I was seeing,
creatures from a delirium.
It was simply my mission to find this
abducted nurse, or bring back to headquarters, her, or her death notice.
So I had no intention to alter my course; I was a sniper and Green Bert,
and knew how to move through the jungle with ease, getting lost of course is
the thing not to do, and my campus was not working all the great, I meant to
replace it, but never got around to it, the pointer was flipping and flopping
every-which-way.
I
figured I’d have time enough to think of a retreat once I got what I was
looking for. Dead or alive. Thus it was better for me to keep this group in
sight.
In
the morning the group had decided to go back to their village, although they didn’t,
they sat around a fire debating, drinking rice wine and telling dirty jokes,
and deliberating at length of what they should do.
I
doubled back, trying to retrace their steps the day before
that is before they came
to making this campfire, where evidently they had caged the Girl.
It
was not hard to find, not more than a mile from where I was, it was there
pushed up against an old temple ruin, the cage the girl was in, and the girl
was in it. And hence, I moved a little more rapidly, then slowed down, near a
creep, and looked in a three dimensional view, as might a scout, and then I
halted, more like froze in my blood, to a stop!
There
pacing around the cage was a tiger facing the girl.
I
could see her puffed up eyes, glossy with terror and tears. She was as if in a
trance.
I
was frozen to this spot, likewise.
She
was slender, and had just rages for clothes on her, and had been missing I knew
for three or four days, how fantastically I pondered, she had survived.
Her
white uniform torn, soiled, as I said, more like rages, draped on her, exposing
large parts of her skin: face and arms scratched and bleeding. She didn’t even
see me; her whole mind was on the tiger.
There
was no way for the girl to escape, and had she, this was her reward, the
tiger’s meal.
To
save her from this terrible death, should the tiger decide to rip open the
bamboo cage, now surely thinking, ‘Any moment!’
I
tiptoed slowly forward, and beyond the realms of possibility that the tiger
taking one big leap at me, would not be successful.
And
perhaps by smell, instantly the tiger got distracted now, for he turned his
attention from the girl onto me.
And
so now the center of interest was the brute tiger and me, and I upon him, and
the girl now found hope I suppose, hope for escape.
I
shouted at the tiger, and it wheeled complete about, taking a 90-degree flip,
and a sudden jerk.
The
tiger glanced back at the girl, his meal.
The
tiger had kicked the hole in the bamboo cage, big enough for her to escape and
nearly big enough for him to enter: I could see that now, yet her other fate
was too dreadful for her, so she stayed put:
“When
I shoot him, even if I miss, run out of that hole and make for a tree,” I decreed.
The
tiger hesitated for another instant to see the girl again, and then back to me,
it was a rude interruption but it gave me time to aim my M16—
The
animal snarled, I was twenty-five feet away, he easily
leaped a fifteen feet distance, what more could I do but stand my ground—
In
a brief instant, I made a photograph in my mind of his forehead the side of his
head, and neck, then figured I’d miss it, and put all my muscle and weight and
aim into this one shot, without waiting for the beast to position himself into
a second leap.
My
shoulder held the rifle tight, timed to a fraction, and my shot hit him full in
the chest, his paws curled under him, and the leap he was about to take, caused
him to fall to one side, and the girl ran to the tree, like hell was on fire.
I
asked myself: is he dead or simply disabled?
I
wasn’t going to guess, I put five more shots into the dying body of the beast.
The
intended prey, high up in the empire of trees, I could hear taking a long and
deep sigh.
Now
I approached the tree.
Her
face was still filled with fear and terror, stained with blood and wet tears.
She
thought the beast might still be alive; she didn’t want to leave the tree.
“Go
away,” she commanded me, as I put out my hand to help her down.
“Who
are you?” she demanded.
As
she stepped down from the tree, it looked as if she had the beginnings of a
pernicious fever.
“Pardon
me,” said the nurse, “I didn’t catch your name Sergeant?”
“You
have no need to fear me,” I assured her.
“I
overheard a group of Vietnamese saying they had captured you, and had put you
into a cage, although I had orders to find your whereabouts, and rescue you or
bring back a report of what happened to you; so I came looking, and to be
honest, they may have decided to come back for you, they were thinking of it.
Hand you over to the VC.”
“I’ll
trust you Sergeant to get me out of here and to a military base,” she said,
“for there is no other way, I cannot go back to the clinic I was working at,
they took other nurses also, and a white doctor.”
“They’re
all dead,” I told her.
“What
is your name?” she asked me.
“Sergeant
Evens” I replied.
“And
what is your name,” I asked.
“Natnof.”
She replied.
“What
kind of name is that? I asked.
“They
gave it to me in the village I was at,” she said with an eye on me, closely on
me, as if the name made any imprint on me, and it didn’t.
I
found myself appraising her beauty, her dark brown eyes, black velvet hair, and
bronze skin, her white ivory teeth.
She
was my age, perhaps younger, twenty-three, thereabouts.
I
could not help but gaze at this delicately molded figure of a girl, beside me.
She had courage and beauty.
A
soldier of the United States military could not be less.
Just
the stamina to endure this for day or four days not knowing what would be the end,
proved her to be an equal to any soldier.
“If
I am going to rescue you,” I said with determination, “we had better get
trekking, and find a way back to the South China Sea, and then to Cam Ranh Bay.
We are eighty-three miles from the sea, and three miles according to where I
assume your village is, or that where those militia men had taken you, and no
more than a mile from where the militia men were camped:
I
call them militia men, for lack of a better name, they will come looking for
you to take you hostage again.
I
expect they will be told to come back for you, sooner than later by the VC
commandant.”
As
we set out in the direction of our prescribed destination, it was apparent to
me, the young nurse was tired to the point of collapse.
How
she sustained herself this long was on pure will-power.
She
was lean and small, it was not hard to have her place her one arm around my
shoulder and neck, and use me as a helpful walking stick, although she was
walking on her toes then, per near.
We
walked in a long silence, which induced hunger, thirst and fatigue.
I
told myself I must remain strong!
Somehow
I found myself near the location I had been before, where the Vietnamese
militia men had their campfire; anyhow it looked familiar, yet I wasn’t
positive, I was too tired to be positive.
We
stopped here because it was a clearing, plus there was a stream, and cold clear
water.
For
twenty minutes or so we both laid stretched out upon the ground.
Nearby,
one of the militia men stood up, his ears had caught the sound of something
approaching—
The
forth militia man had just returned from a hunt, he had a small wild pig, a
boar, dragging behind him, but that was not the sound in question.
“Be
quiet,” said one of the men around the campfire, noticing their companion with
the boar, “You too be quiet!” he said, he also was hearing something behind
him, a light conversation in English, and the sound was drifting back to them.
Now
all four heard the noise.
The
sergeant and his rescued nurse, had not gone in the direction of the South
China Sea.
The
leader of the militia, the only one with a skimpy neck, and sparse mustache,
signaled his warriors to silence and pointed in the direction of the stream,
they knew exactly where it was.
As
they all crept slowly in that direction, the sound became closer, and clearer, as
they neared the stream, and more pronounced than what they had first heard.
Thus
approaching steadily, and then in their sight, they saw the sergeant and the
runaway nurse whom they sought, and were having second thoughts over, to return
and if still alive, bring back to the VC for a hostage, and perhaps get a
reward.
They
had taken what they need, what all men seem to think they need from women,
unwillingly, as a trophy or perhaps as they say booty, and thus could not kill
her outright, had they been VC, this would not have been an issue.
Elated,
the one with the mustache leaped from his place of concealment, calling wildly
to his men to rush the two.
At
sight of them, the sergeant turned to escape, seeing the nurse frozen in fear,
he stopped his escape, and put his M16 on Rock and Roll, and sprayed the area
in front of him with an array of 7.62 millimeter bullets; knowing of course he
could make no headway while burdened with the nurse.
All
were dead but the leader.
“We
are lost,” said the Sergeant.
The
sergeant placed another bullet in the Vietnamese’s throat, he bleed quickly
out.
The
nurse hesitated, “Did you have to?”
“Yes,”
said the sergeant, lest I let the animals eat him alive; plus, I can’t carry
two, you and him, who would you prefer I save?”
Natfou,
whose name was really Gayle Rosenboum, gave a grimace, hiding her discontent.
Then
knowing there was food and supplies at the militia’s camp, they headed in that
direction.
The
foliage was thick and so they could not rush forward, being as hungry as they
were. The girl continued to fall back slowly with a low brow.
At
the camp, there were three dead monkeys, and a pig.
The
Sergeant had guessed from the attitude of the four man militia, that they were
simply an outpost, that soon the more powerful Vietcong, a more courageous and
resourceful enemy would be following them as soon as they grasped the
situation.
After
eating, and pinning some of the meat he put in pouches, to his belt around his
body, he took his broken directional compass, and checked the sun to see what
direction it was descending, and it was descending in the west of course, thus
he went in the opposite direction, following the example of his campus.
The
dinner was serene, monkey meat, and over the tiny fire was tasty hot vegetables
ready to have the pork cooked in it, but out of necessity to move, they let the
delicious pork rot where it lay.
They
both were quite content with the full meal of monkey and vegetables, and so
looking forward to seeing the South China Sea, for they had both eaten generous
portions, the hightailed out of the campsite.
The
sergeant had found Gayle to be in a good humor now, no longer immersed in
melancholy for the death of the four militants.
Regardless,
however, the respectful attention shown him before by her, was not shown any
longer.
Prior
to this she had figured the sergeant knew his way back, that it was an
accomplished fact, now, because of his mistake, he had brought death to four
men that might have lived.
She
even questioned, if it was for his personal entertainment if he killed the last
one.
As
they pushed their way through the darkening of the jungle, their wrists, necks,
faces and ankles, exposed skin areas, received a multitude of scratches.
Sargent
Evens had stripped the four men of their weapons, and what he couldn’t carry,
he buried so the VC could not use them against them, now he had to allow the
AK47 rifles, three he had taken, lay, gathered together in a pile by a great stack
of limbs and branches, and twigs and grasses of the jungle, he could no longer
carry them.
And
when night fell they lit a light fire, which held a dual purpose, as a fire
against the crawling beasts, to protect them, and a gruesome light for the
spooky night:
And
there was enough wood to burn during the full night, as the Sargent feed it
accordingly.
The
flames jumped here and there, high and low, shot out against the foliage, against
the trunks of the trees.
And
the shadows of the fire ushered in more shadows of darkness—greys mixed with
flickers of flames that looked like red eyes.
And
the silence, and the mystery inverted, by the flames, created ghostly inhuman
like figures, and then consumed by smoke, they disappeared, and then the
sergeant fell into a complete dead sleep.
For
Gayle, sleep was a nightmare; she had asked someone inside her nightmare, “Do
all men in this far-off country, especially soldiers, or alike do brutal and
cruel things?”
The
nightmare demon told her, transplanted in her head “Soldiers do not change.
They do not play harps.”
There
was an undercurrent she appeared to be endeavoring to conceal, a soft emotion,
she was ashamed of what they made her do, and this undercurrent, this hint was
sharp.
And
now she was gambling on if she would be used for the instrument of pleasure by
Sergeant Evens, as she was by the militia men.
“God
forbid,” she cried in her sleep, “if they are all alike…”
“No,”
whispered another voice, “They are not all alike!”
Was
she now stricken with fever, she questioned her mind’s eye.
Eating
monkeys, and half naked, looking at weapons ready to be fired at any moment,
and the sergeant looking at her with lustful eyes, or were they eyes, simply
eyes, attesting to her beauty.
And
those roughhousing want-to-be soldiers: watching
those four men get stain.
And
a beast killed with a single shot, one wanting to eat her.
The
Militia wanting her for pleasure, and having their pleasures met, it was all
too much.
And
now the fever!
Gayle
dreamed questioningly if she really ever wanted to wake up!
I
mean, was it only a matter of misfortune if she did?
She
was ungrudging with admiration for the bravery of Sergeant Evens, then she
rose, couldn’t sleep, passed about the fire, walked to the spot where the
sergeant had put his M16 rifle.
Picking
it up, she examined it closely.
“By
gosh,” she ejaculated, “it has blood on it!”
And
had the sergeant been awake, it would have been noticeable immediately, she had
changed instantly to a melancholy deep void, a depression: however could her
life with all this inside of her head, be mended, especially the shame of it
all!
Plus,
if she was dead, that would give the sergeant a better opportunity to escape.
After
a meager drink of cool water, and a prayer, she put more wood on the fire,
making it blazingly warm.
A
moment of thought passed.
And
here, she found a concrete substantiation for life—within that moment: death! And with the sound of the bang of the rifle,
the sergeant awoke, and looking at what took place, knew all that he had left
to deliver, was a story, a report.
No: 1040 (11-29 & 30-2014)
