Squatting Dog
by Flack Vest
O
ne by one, the VC crossed his view. There was about six, or seven,
maybe eight; no more than a dozen. What an awkward position to be in!
Just a few moments before Johnson was lying down along the river with the
rest of the recon team and waiting for any kind of activity to collect
and report back to S-2 intel. But, he heard, or should I say, he felt
nature was a-callin';. Very silently he crawled away
from the patrol.
Squatting and holding onto a tree, suddenly he saw the gooks
creepin' by. Actually, they weren't really alert, some of
them having their weapons over their shoulders. Some were laughing and
talking quietly. They were about five yards away. Hoping that he was
down-wind and the breeze was in his favor, Johnson held his breath, and
that was not all that was squeezed tight. He felt a gentle breeze across
his face; the wind was in his favor. The enemy would not smell the
evidence of his presence.
The enemy patrol stopped and froze in time. One of them, probably the
leader, looked very intensely around. Seeing his weapon inches away
against a tree, Johnson didn't want to move and give the whole
recon's position away. The recon was a small unit, not meant to
make contact with a large enemy force. They were there for just enemy
intelligence. Then what seems for hours, just like that, the VC patrol
was to be consumed by the jungle. They were gone.
When he returned to his team's position, Johnson was in a cold
sweat, his heart pounding as he tried to control his breathing. He
stared out in front of his position at the river. Then glancing around
at his buddies, he noticed that some were smiling and some gesturing by
holding their noses. He realized that they weren't aware of what
just happened. After using hand signals, the whole team realized that
the enemy had just passed the rear of their position. The team would
later report to S-2 by radio with a situation report and coordinates of
the enemy sighting. The recon team was not due to exfiltrated until a
few days later.
* * * * * * * *
The voices brought him back to reality. They had caught him daydreaming
and staring out the window. It was Fall and he loved the autumn season.
The smell seemed to be fresh and the foliage was ablaze with color.
"Mr. Johnson!! Mr. Johnson!!" He looked up and saw one of
his students standing in front of his desk. "Yes?" he said.
"Mr. Johnson, I have to leave class early today to go serve at a
funeral Mass. I wanted to know if there was any homework."
Looking at the young student, maybe sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen at
the most. Yes eighteen. So young, life's just beginning. He
thought, "Did I look that young back then?."
"No," the teacher said, "There will be no homework
today. Enjoy your evening-----Oh, by the way, do me a favor. While your
in church, say a.. . On second thought, never mind. See
you tomorrow."
You see now, he teaches history. The students know that he was a Vietnam
veteran. And just as curious about the war as he was at that age, they
sometimes asked questions about his experiences and what it was like.
Sometimes it made him feel awkward. Knowing they will never understand.
Usually he talks his way around the subject. He jokes it off by saying
things like, "There's tougher things in life than war. Like
passing my exam on Friday."
You see, war isn't always "shoot-em-up bang, bang."
Sometimes it's being at the right place at the right time.
Sometimes nature calls and you end squatting in the middle of the jungle
doing a recon.
Flak Vest