REBtexas
January 25th, 2020, 01:37 AM
Note: Pasting this here from one of my doc. files certainly tweaked the formatting. Just means that I had to read it again and fix what jumped out of me. Hope I caught it all. Would like to read your comments.
Chapter1
High from their tree-top lookouts the monkeys were the first to notice the noise. The babies clung even closer to their mothers—the older males moved nervously as they peered through the jungle canopy.
Down below, the flutter of startled birds could be heard and on the ground the first man could be seen—at first just an odd movement through a patch of morning fog—swinging his machete—quickly moving forward. Behind him, the next man and the next one following him, and even the next one, all had that unmistakable look of North Vietnamese soldiers. Their AK-47s and uniforms made no attempt to hide their presence. Altogether the column of men making their way through the jungle numbered close to twenty. Five of them were Americans—more than one of them panting—trying to keep pace with the swinging machete.
As for retired army officer Jimmy Sutton, this image of the future would have been unthinkable years ago—totally unthinkable. But there were also the unmistakable connections between the past and the present that struck Sutton like a sledgehammer. First: the jungle; near Laos;near North Vietnam. He'd been here before. His right shoulder still ached at times from the bullet that had hit him. "Probably," he thought, "shot by that soldier's father," who was just a few yards ahead of him. "Wouldn't that be one hell of an irony?"
You would think that after so much time his arm would have completely healed. But the bullet had hit the bone. No wonder it still ached. Especially in the damp. Especially in a damp jungle. More haunting memories. Soon he would be struggling against other familiar foes—the relentless attack from millions of insects. Their only purpose in life seemed to be taking part in a gigantic, never-ending feast.These men were now the main course.
Altogether the soldiers made an intriguing sight. Were they going to war? Most of the men were heavily armed.
No, this story takes place back in the 90s—America and North Vietnam have been at peace for many years. Still, they needed the guards. After all, you never know what surprises a jungle has in store for you.
No, this was a kinder and gentler group of men making their way toward the mountain. Instead of sworn enemies, these men were officially cooperating with one another. Even so, they were still doing what soldiers do—searching for their dead.
POWs—MIAs—abbreviations that had quickly turned into words, almost too cute to describe Sutton's grim task. For a number of years, North Vietnam has been assisting the United States in locating the thousands of U.S.servicemen who had been swallowed by this vast and rugged county,never to be seen again. Of course, Uncle Sam knows they're out there—somewhere—but exactly where?
So this explains the reason for the column of men slowly making their way forward—frightening the monkeys. However, with some luck they would find it. But it would take a lot of luck—even if what they were looking for was almost as big as a football field. That's just about the size of a B-52.
For many good reasons America was looking for its dead, but for Jimmy Sutton his mission was even more painful. Not just because he had fought here—but for other reasons. More secret reasons. Interrupted in thought by the sound of the men up ahead he would have to come to grips with his feelings later. Now a swift stream brought the man with the machete to a standstill. All twenty men stood watching, wondering how they would get to the other side. Lt. Ngo assured everyone that they would find a way.
Sutton motioned for his interpreter. "Tell the Lieutenant that we're going to take fifteen while he sends the scouts out for a look—thanks."
"Hey Scott, let's have a smoke." Scott had been poured out of the same mold as Sutton—both retired military—both the same age—both professionals.
Butonly Sutton carried the dirty little secret—or, so he thought. He had been carefully hiding it since 1973. He looked at Scott removing his pack and felt the shame.
"Good idea, Major." Soon the other Americans were pulling out their cigarettes, except for the kid. Blake was selected as part of the team because back in the States he was considered one of the best mountain climbers alive. And you've got to be young to climb mountains.
Blake had learned the art after the war—after his dad's F-4 Phantom had been hit over the North. His Navy jet never quite made it back to its carrier. The men felt bad that they weren't out there looking for him, but of course they couldn't. A tremendous splash in Blake's mind was all that was left to remember his father's last moments.
Regardless of their difference in age, the rest of the American team felt good having Blake along. Besides the fact that they would need him on the mountain, he reminded the men of their own youth—of their own hopes and dreams that had, so long ago, been put to the greatest test of hide-and-seek that any teenager could ever play—jungle warfare. That's right, they had been so awfully young—not even twenty years old.
"HeyBlake, why don't you just climb that tree with your rope and we'll all swing across the stream like Tarzan?" Laughing at the thought, Blake said that he might have to if the scouts couldn't find a way to cross it.
"Major Sutton," Blake said, "we're really getting into some rugged terrain. What do you think it will be like up ahead?"
Pulling some photos from his pack, Sutton reached over and handed them to Blake. "Yeah, you're right about it getting tough. Take a look at that second photo. That was taken by one of our teams three years ago."
"Along the base of that mountain is where we're headed." Sutton rolled his cigar between his fingers.
"The Air Force thinks we might find their B-52 over there, but it's really just a guessing game. Before we came over here I got a briefing from General Samm but even he admitted that their intelligence on this bomber is almost non-existent. It seems that when the missile hit it, all of its communications equipment was knocked out and from the height it was flying, by the time it finally hit the ground it could have hurtled hundreds of miles in just about any direction."
Trying to find a comfortable spot on the ground, Major Sutton continued. "The only reason we're going to look there is because of some sketchy report they just picked up from a villager in Cambodia who was told by his elderly mother of a huge American plane. Supposedly his father had seen it headed in that direction when he was just a boy, digging tunnels for the Vietcong. He said he had heard it crash.I guess they feel the story is reliable enough for us to check i tout. All I know is that this is one of the most remote areas in all of Southeast Asia."
"Looking at these photographs, Major Sutton, and looking at what's actually all around us, I'm really surprised at how out of sync they are."
"Welcome to Vietnam, kid." Pete laughed out loud.
Pete was the jokester of the bunch. Even the Marine Corps couldn't beat that out of him. He was the fourth member of the team. He carried the electronics.
They were all laughing now. Even the North Vietnamese soldiers began to laugh, although they had no idea what the Americans were talking about.
"I'll tell you what, Blake," Pete said, "Once, after the war,when I was in Central America looking for traces of a lost Mayan city rumored to be in the jungle—we were given some aerial photographs to follow and I never got so damn lost in my entire life. They had to send out the Honduran Army to find us!"
Again all the men were laughing when one of the scouts returned. Lt. Ngo walked over to Sutton. The interpreter said they had found a fallen tree that could be used to cross the stream. This was good news and within twenty minutes the column of men once again began making its way toward the mountain.
Two more arduous days and mosquito infested nights passed before another morning greeted the tired men—a new day—a new adventure that promised to reveal what each had come such a long way to find. The greatest relief was that after breakfast the tents could be left pitched since Sutton had decided to establish their present location as their base camp. With the mountain firmly planted beside them, from there the men could break out into teams.
For the next several days everyone would systematically search for any signs of the missing bomber. At least, this was the plan. Blake and two of the younger soldiers would explore the mountain. There was a lot of territory to cover.
Tracy was the fifth and final member of the American search party. He had spent two tours in Vietnam with the Army's elite SOG unit that operated out of Kontum.
At the end of his second tour his best friend, SFC Jerry (Mad Dog) Shriver was killed during a fierce battle. That was in April of 1969.This legend of a man had survived an unheard of 40 missions deep behind enemy lines.
The pencil pushers at Shining Brass all knew that the men who made up their SOG units seldom survived beyond 20 missions. Anyhow, Tracy had his reasons for coming back to Vietnam. But revenge wasn't one of them. When Mad Dog disappeared during a battle, his body was never recovered and some of the men thought he might have been captured. Add to the facts that Mad Dog had saved Tracy's life more than once—yes, he had his reasons.
Sutton,Scott, Pete and Tracy—each had lost friends in Vietnam and you couldn't help but respect them for what they were doing. They didn't have to volunteer for any of this. But no—they wanted to. They desperately wanted to. A good soldier never leaves his fallen comrades behind and with a chance to correct the past they were eager for this new day. It wasn't until several days later, however, that Lady Luck smiled upon them.
And it doesn't really matter who spotted the massive object first because Tracy and Pete were both there when it was found. Actually, it was one of the North Vietnamese soldiers who saw the thing first, quickly yelling for the two Americans to come look. Hacking their way through the dense undergrowth to a small clearing, they stood looking at it—a moment in time they would never forget for as long as they lived.
Since they had agreed to contact the entire team before investigating any major artifacts, using his portable radio to reach Sutton and the others, Pete told them what they had found. The Vietnamese came, too. Within an hour everyone stood in complete silence looking at the unbelievable sight resting on the jungle floor.
"What do you think Major—is it the B-52?"
https://em.wattpad.com/7ff9840d729a126317119a361db9158b22ca0871/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f 776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f 7279496d6167652f32575855574e4e613566696270413d3d2d 3831303830333535302e313564633131656539393833376562 323733313939313732323638332e6a7067?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280
photo: Jim Flanagan
"It sure looks like it Blake. Now that everyone's here, let's take a closer look."
The jungle had covered parts of the downed bomber while other parts of the aircraft were clearly visible. "My God, just look at that thing—sitting here all these years."
Professional soldiers that they were, the North Vietnamese spread out to secure the perimeter, leaving the Americans to honor their dead. Lt. Ngo remained with the interpreter at a respectable distance, slowly smoking a cigarette as he watched the drama unfold before him.
The enormous jet was in surprisingly good shape—at least what was left of it. The wings and tail section were missing but other than that, Sutton knew that he had found his bomber. Aircraft parts were everywhere.
Of course they had to see what was inside and Tracy was the first to inch his way into the small opening, careful not to cut himself on any of the jagged metal that guarded the entrance. Then it was the Major who slowly disappeared. Scott was next, followed by Pete. Suddenly Sutton stopped dead in his tracks, drawing his .357 from its holster—snake. Outside, Blake could see a slithering object off to his right, obviously disturbed by the approaching men.
Chapter1
High from their tree-top lookouts the monkeys were the first to notice the noise. The babies clung even closer to their mothers—the older males moved nervously as they peered through the jungle canopy.
Down below, the flutter of startled birds could be heard and on the ground the first man could be seen—at first just an odd movement through a patch of morning fog—swinging his machete—quickly moving forward. Behind him, the next man and the next one following him, and even the next one, all had that unmistakable look of North Vietnamese soldiers. Their AK-47s and uniforms made no attempt to hide their presence. Altogether the column of men making their way through the jungle numbered close to twenty. Five of them were Americans—more than one of them panting—trying to keep pace with the swinging machete.
As for retired army officer Jimmy Sutton, this image of the future would have been unthinkable years ago—totally unthinkable. But there were also the unmistakable connections between the past and the present that struck Sutton like a sledgehammer. First: the jungle; near Laos;near North Vietnam. He'd been here before. His right shoulder still ached at times from the bullet that had hit him. "Probably," he thought, "shot by that soldier's father," who was just a few yards ahead of him. "Wouldn't that be one hell of an irony?"
You would think that after so much time his arm would have completely healed. But the bullet had hit the bone. No wonder it still ached. Especially in the damp. Especially in a damp jungle. More haunting memories. Soon he would be struggling against other familiar foes—the relentless attack from millions of insects. Their only purpose in life seemed to be taking part in a gigantic, never-ending feast.These men were now the main course.
Altogether the soldiers made an intriguing sight. Were they going to war? Most of the men were heavily armed.
No, this story takes place back in the 90s—America and North Vietnam have been at peace for many years. Still, they needed the guards. After all, you never know what surprises a jungle has in store for you.
No, this was a kinder and gentler group of men making their way toward the mountain. Instead of sworn enemies, these men were officially cooperating with one another. Even so, they were still doing what soldiers do—searching for their dead.
POWs—MIAs—abbreviations that had quickly turned into words, almost too cute to describe Sutton's grim task. For a number of years, North Vietnam has been assisting the United States in locating the thousands of U.S.servicemen who had been swallowed by this vast and rugged county,never to be seen again. Of course, Uncle Sam knows they're out there—somewhere—but exactly where?
So this explains the reason for the column of men slowly making their way forward—frightening the monkeys. However, with some luck they would find it. But it would take a lot of luck—even if what they were looking for was almost as big as a football field. That's just about the size of a B-52.
For many good reasons America was looking for its dead, but for Jimmy Sutton his mission was even more painful. Not just because he had fought here—but for other reasons. More secret reasons. Interrupted in thought by the sound of the men up ahead he would have to come to grips with his feelings later. Now a swift stream brought the man with the machete to a standstill. All twenty men stood watching, wondering how they would get to the other side. Lt. Ngo assured everyone that they would find a way.
Sutton motioned for his interpreter. "Tell the Lieutenant that we're going to take fifteen while he sends the scouts out for a look—thanks."
"Hey Scott, let's have a smoke." Scott had been poured out of the same mold as Sutton—both retired military—both the same age—both professionals.
Butonly Sutton carried the dirty little secret—or, so he thought. He had been carefully hiding it since 1973. He looked at Scott removing his pack and felt the shame.
"Good idea, Major." Soon the other Americans were pulling out their cigarettes, except for the kid. Blake was selected as part of the team because back in the States he was considered one of the best mountain climbers alive. And you've got to be young to climb mountains.
Blake had learned the art after the war—after his dad's F-4 Phantom had been hit over the North. His Navy jet never quite made it back to its carrier. The men felt bad that they weren't out there looking for him, but of course they couldn't. A tremendous splash in Blake's mind was all that was left to remember his father's last moments.
Regardless of their difference in age, the rest of the American team felt good having Blake along. Besides the fact that they would need him on the mountain, he reminded the men of their own youth—of their own hopes and dreams that had, so long ago, been put to the greatest test of hide-and-seek that any teenager could ever play—jungle warfare. That's right, they had been so awfully young—not even twenty years old.
"HeyBlake, why don't you just climb that tree with your rope and we'll all swing across the stream like Tarzan?" Laughing at the thought, Blake said that he might have to if the scouts couldn't find a way to cross it.
"Major Sutton," Blake said, "we're really getting into some rugged terrain. What do you think it will be like up ahead?"
Pulling some photos from his pack, Sutton reached over and handed them to Blake. "Yeah, you're right about it getting tough. Take a look at that second photo. That was taken by one of our teams three years ago."
"Along the base of that mountain is where we're headed." Sutton rolled his cigar between his fingers.
"The Air Force thinks we might find their B-52 over there, but it's really just a guessing game. Before we came over here I got a briefing from General Samm but even he admitted that their intelligence on this bomber is almost non-existent. It seems that when the missile hit it, all of its communications equipment was knocked out and from the height it was flying, by the time it finally hit the ground it could have hurtled hundreds of miles in just about any direction."
Trying to find a comfortable spot on the ground, Major Sutton continued. "The only reason we're going to look there is because of some sketchy report they just picked up from a villager in Cambodia who was told by his elderly mother of a huge American plane. Supposedly his father had seen it headed in that direction when he was just a boy, digging tunnels for the Vietcong. He said he had heard it crash.I guess they feel the story is reliable enough for us to check i tout. All I know is that this is one of the most remote areas in all of Southeast Asia."
"Looking at these photographs, Major Sutton, and looking at what's actually all around us, I'm really surprised at how out of sync they are."
"Welcome to Vietnam, kid." Pete laughed out loud.
Pete was the jokester of the bunch. Even the Marine Corps couldn't beat that out of him. He was the fourth member of the team. He carried the electronics.
They were all laughing now. Even the North Vietnamese soldiers began to laugh, although they had no idea what the Americans were talking about.
"I'll tell you what, Blake," Pete said, "Once, after the war,when I was in Central America looking for traces of a lost Mayan city rumored to be in the jungle—we were given some aerial photographs to follow and I never got so damn lost in my entire life. They had to send out the Honduran Army to find us!"
Again all the men were laughing when one of the scouts returned. Lt. Ngo walked over to Sutton. The interpreter said they had found a fallen tree that could be used to cross the stream. This was good news and within twenty minutes the column of men once again began making its way toward the mountain.
Two more arduous days and mosquito infested nights passed before another morning greeted the tired men—a new day—a new adventure that promised to reveal what each had come such a long way to find. The greatest relief was that after breakfast the tents could be left pitched since Sutton had decided to establish their present location as their base camp. With the mountain firmly planted beside them, from there the men could break out into teams.
For the next several days everyone would systematically search for any signs of the missing bomber. At least, this was the plan. Blake and two of the younger soldiers would explore the mountain. There was a lot of territory to cover.
Tracy was the fifth and final member of the American search party. He had spent two tours in Vietnam with the Army's elite SOG unit that operated out of Kontum.
At the end of his second tour his best friend, SFC Jerry (Mad Dog) Shriver was killed during a fierce battle. That was in April of 1969.This legend of a man had survived an unheard of 40 missions deep behind enemy lines.
The pencil pushers at Shining Brass all knew that the men who made up their SOG units seldom survived beyond 20 missions. Anyhow, Tracy had his reasons for coming back to Vietnam. But revenge wasn't one of them. When Mad Dog disappeared during a battle, his body was never recovered and some of the men thought he might have been captured. Add to the facts that Mad Dog had saved Tracy's life more than once—yes, he had his reasons.
Sutton,Scott, Pete and Tracy—each had lost friends in Vietnam and you couldn't help but respect them for what they were doing. They didn't have to volunteer for any of this. But no—they wanted to. They desperately wanted to. A good soldier never leaves his fallen comrades behind and with a chance to correct the past they were eager for this new day. It wasn't until several days later, however, that Lady Luck smiled upon them.
And it doesn't really matter who spotted the massive object first because Tracy and Pete were both there when it was found. Actually, it was one of the North Vietnamese soldiers who saw the thing first, quickly yelling for the two Americans to come look. Hacking their way through the dense undergrowth to a small clearing, they stood looking at it—a moment in time they would never forget for as long as they lived.
Since they had agreed to contact the entire team before investigating any major artifacts, using his portable radio to reach Sutton and the others, Pete told them what they had found. The Vietnamese came, too. Within an hour everyone stood in complete silence looking at the unbelievable sight resting on the jungle floor.
"What do you think Major—is it the B-52?"
https://em.wattpad.com/7ff9840d729a126317119a361db9158b22ca0871/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f 776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f 7279496d6167652f32575855574e4e613566696270413d3d2d 3831303830333535302e313564633131656539393833376562 323733313939313732323638332e6a7067?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280
photo: Jim Flanagan
"It sure looks like it Blake. Now that everyone's here, let's take a closer look."
The jungle had covered parts of the downed bomber while other parts of the aircraft were clearly visible. "My God, just look at that thing—sitting here all these years."
Professional soldiers that they were, the North Vietnamese spread out to secure the perimeter, leaving the Americans to honor their dead. Lt. Ngo remained with the interpreter at a respectable distance, slowly smoking a cigarette as he watched the drama unfold before him.
The enormous jet was in surprisingly good shape—at least what was left of it. The wings and tail section were missing but other than that, Sutton knew that he had found his bomber. Aircraft parts were everywhere.
Of course they had to see what was inside and Tracy was the first to inch his way into the small opening, careful not to cut himself on any of the jagged metal that guarded the entrance. Then it was the Major who slowly disappeared. Scott was next, followed by Pete. Suddenly Sutton stopped dead in his tracks, drawing his .357 from its holster—snake. Outside, Blake could see a slithering object off to his right, obviously disturbed by the approaching men.