Death in the Jungle Gary Smith (mobi reader txt) 📖

That was discouraging because he seemed not to believe me. To me, this episode confirmed once again that my senses of hearing and smell were extraordinary, as others couldn’t hear or smell the inconspicuous things I could. I attributed my superior, attuned senses to my having been a country boy and a hunter. In comparison with the boys from the city, I was the one who was “practiced up.”

We ended up sneaking 250 meters closer to the enemy base camps where two more streams forked from ours. The vantage point was better, but the terrain was lower and wetter, both on the riverbank and in the bush at rear security. That promised us a watery day and night.

While Schrader, Pearson, Moses, Markel, and Dicey set up overlooking the streams, I took the first watch at the rear, positioning myself to keep my eyes on a well-worn trail behind us. I sat in mud and a few inches of water, hidden between two wild fig trees and a small bush.

The long night on the first ambush site had taken its toll on Mr. Meston, Flynn, and McCollum, who fell fast asleep a few meters from me. Their having taken Dexamil pills during the early morning hours hadn’t helped them because the short-term “high” had left behind an abnormal drowsiness. I was happy that I’d avoided the use of the drug, as I had to remain extremely alert, especially since we were camped less than three hundred yards from men who would have loved to have slit us from neck to nuts.

I kept watch until 1115 hours, drowning a half dozen more ants to pass the time, when McCollum woke up and took over. That was when I could finally let go and relax. The stress of playing hide-and-seek in the VC’s backyard had worn me out. I propped the M-16/ XM-148 against a fig tree, hung my head, and took a few long, slow breaths. Before I knew it, I was asleep.

When I awoke three hours later, I discovered a dozen red ants crawling on me. Three of them were on my face. Quickly, I started brushing the little monsters off. Before I got them all, one of them bit my neck. That pissed me off, and I took revenge by catching the culprit and tearing him in two. I discarded the pieces and immediately felt much better.

For the next three hours, I daydreamed and catnapped while Flynn had watch. At dusk, Mr. Meston signaled for us to relieve the front line. The four of us at the rear moved to the stream. As we approached our teammates, only Mr. Schrader and Moses desired replacement. Pearson, Dicey, and Markel asked permission from Mr. Meston to stay on during the night. Meston granted their request. This gave us seven men on ambush and two at rear security.

I sat down in the mud and water on left flank, to Dicey’s left. Darkness dropped, but the moon was unobstructed and bright. I was easily able to see across the thirty-five-meter-wide stream. No way could a sampan slip by unseen.

At 2100 hours, the tide came in. I was forced to stand up as the water rose to chest level. A few minutes later, I heard an airplane coming. As it drew closer, a voice resounded over a loudspeaker from the sky, telling the VC in the Vietnamese language that they were losing the war and should give themselves up. The voice spoke of the humanitarian things the South Vietnamese forces were doing to help the people. Then it said, “Number one, number one.” This went on for two hours as the plane flew back and forth over the T-10 area.

I was glad when the plane finally left, as I had been unable to concentrate on listening for faint noises while the recordings had blared. Now that all was quiet again, I felt like I was back in control of the night. Mamma-san Nature, however, had her input on the situation, and she raised the water up to my neck. Then she lowered the temperature to the sixties, which was awful cold for one who was acclimated to eighties, nineties, and above.

I remained in water until the tide began to recede at 0330 hours. Even though the water level dropped, my clothes were soaked and I was freezing. My teeth were chattering; my face was numb. I thought of Funkhouser, back at the base in bed, and I suddenly wished I could trade places with him, even if only for ten minutes.

About 0400 hours, Mr. Meston used the radio to let the boat support personnel know we wanted to extract at 0600. Only two more hours of shaking like a leaf, I told myself as a pep talk. Two more hours. At the same time, I couldn’t quite believe we’d spent the past twenty hours just one long golf shot from Victor Charlie, and he hadn’t poked his nose out of the clubhouse. What the hell was he doing? Where was he? I cursed through tap-dancing teeth. Hell, he was staying warm next to his brown-eyed lady while I was clutching the most frigid Bad Girl the jungle had ever known. Dammit, anyway!

But Victor Charlie didn’t let me down. He must’ve finished with his woman at 0500 hours, because at 0515 I heard his paddle smack the side of his sampan outside of our right flank position. I tugged the communication line between Dicey and me two times. He answered right back. Then I listened hard, anticipating the telltale splash of a paddle. Several seconds dragged by, then I heard a splash, followed by many more in a perfect rowing rhythm.

I jerked the line three times: “the enemy is here!” Raising the M-16/XM-148, I saw the sampan passing through the middle of our kill zone, coming toward me on the left flank. With my finger on the M-16 trigger, I anxiously waited for Mr. Meston to initiate the ambush. Precious seconds went by, and nothing happened.