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