Tale of Johnny Ray

Saddle up gentlemen. Moving out in oh five.
Those were the words of SGT Lykes. I did a final check of my gear and my weapon as I smoked one more cigarette.
The sun was full up and warming fast. At least the humidity was lessening somewhat, along with the mosquitoes.
"You will do just fine son. I'll be right behind you." sarge said as he walked by and patted me on the shoulder, doing a last minute check of his squad.
As the day before, Second squad would be trailing us with about a hundred meter gap between us.
I would have thought strength in numbers, but the logic was, being spread out would reduce casualties if we got hit.
Maybe, maybe not.
Recon training taught us that the same rule applies when walking as well as being stationary as far as eye movement is concerned.
You can get road hypnosis walking as well as driving a car. I looked down every other step and alternated looking left and right, my primary focus being waist level.
That #### booby trap had me spooked. But I couldn't let that make me forget the possibility of a trap below ground level.
I already heard the stories of the sharpened bamboo shoots and old claymores that Charlie picked up along the way.
Their technology may have been lacking, but they were quite adept at using our stuff against us.
I was amazed at what they could do with something as simple as a discarded flashlight battery.
That's why we were taught from the first day, don't leave anything behind, it may come back to kill you.
Before long, I fell into a rhythm. Down up, left right, occasionally changing the pattern. Repetition can be just as mind numbing as staring in one spot.
Just around the bend I get a glimpse of something. Something out of place with nature. I raised my hand in the universal stop gesture, a closed fist. Followed by the palm down movement.
Sarge relayed the signals back down the line as everybody cautiously went into a crouch.
"What is it son?" he whispered as he sidled up to my position. I merely pointed to the man standing in the road.
He could have been thirty years old. Or he could have been seventy. The rural peasants aged differently than the ladies and gentlemen who grew up in Saigon.
Living in a hut with no running water or electricity. No medical or dental care, poor diet, tainted water.
But most of all, war. It took a hundred years to finally drive out the French and now the Americans were here.
Entire generations knew nothing but war their entire lives, from cradle to grave.
He wore black pajamas and sandals. What little hair he had was gray and clipped short. He appeared to be unarmed.
He stood motionless about fifty feet away. I would have spotted him much sooner were it not for the bend in the road.
The question now was what lay around the bend? A squad of VC? Most likely nothing at all. Maybe he's just out looking for his stray buffalo.
Sarge motioned for everybody to stay put as he tugged at my sleeve and urged me forward with him, leaving the squad behind as to appear less menacing.
We stopped within twenty feet of the man, giving us a better view of what lay around the curve and a closer look at his face, which was unreadable.

 

"Xin chao" sarge says to the man, thinking a simple 'good afternoon' might break the ice, but got no response.
Not even a blink. This guy could pose for statues. Completely unreadable. No hostility, no inquisitiveness. Nothing but a blank stare.
"Ong tu dau den?" sarge tries next. That earned him a slight, almost imperceptible turn of the head as his eyes turned in the same direction.
It was then I noticed one of the pajama sleeves was empty. Only one likely explanation in this neck of the woods.
Industrial accidents didn't occur in the jungle. So unless he was born that way, he most likely lost it in battle, or his village was hit by a U.S. bombing raid.
Is he an old VC guy or just an old farmer? Really not a big difference as far as his attitude toward us is concerned.
Either way, we are the enemy. And apparently we were expected. I have a feeling he saw me before I saw him.
Probably signalled someone a little further around the bend. No need for him to get excited. He's already relayed the message.
"What did you say sarge?" I asked.
"Just asked him where he was from. I'm guessing he is indicating the village where we are going. According to our map, we are only a half a click out."

Now comes the tricky part. For sarge anyway, for he has a decision to make. And that is how to handle the old man.
This is the stuff they don't teach in infantry school. They teach us to kill, not make diplomatic decisions.
Do we just continue walking and leave him standing there? Do we have have him accompany us the rest of the way? We can't just shoot him.
I couldn't anyway. Geneva Convention aside, I couldn't just kill an old, nonagressive, one armed man without provocation.
Do we lay him down and frisk him? Seems wise on the surface, but if he has a bomb strapped to his stomach, that would be the time for him to detonate it.

I could see the indecision in sarge's face when the unexpected happened.
The old man turned and began walking back the other way. The way we were going.

 

Sorry about the small font Judi. I just plain forgot.

 

Yeah, I know, but she once mentioned that sometimes she's trying to read while hubby is bouncing down the highway. I don't mind.
I'm sure will forgive me this time LOL