By What is Sure to Follow

by Donald Burton

  Doctor Southfield, the Navy doctor assigned to Luke’s case, was frustrated by the order that meant he had to free up Luke’s bed. Walking out into the hall after his daily visit with Luke, he confided with an associate. “It’s a shame that we can’t spend more time with patients like him. I’m sure he’ll function okay, but he still has a long way to go.” His associate nodded as they walked to the next room.

  The next morning shortly after breakfast Luke was informed by the duty nurse that he could get dressed, he was being released from the hospital. He stood staring at her for a long moment before it sunk in. He was free to return to his unit. Quickly Luke put on his newly issued green utility uniform and headed downstairs to the liaison office for his travel documents. His orders, handed him by a liaison clerk at the desk, directed him to report to the Marine Corps Staging Battalion Office, also located on the huge military base.

  The Staging Battalion was where every Marine went when released from the hospital. Luke had heard the scuttlebutt and knew what to expect. It was up to the staff of the Staging Battalion to evaluate Luke’s medical records and decide if he was fit for active duty, and if so, they would decide if he went back to his old unit or to a new one.

  Luke whistled as he walked. He felt the warm sunshine. It felt good. Not hurrying, he headed toward the Marine Corps complex adjoining the huge base. He enjoyed the scenery, confident that he was ready for duty in Vietnam. Several vehicles stopped and offered him a lift, but he shook them off. He preferred to walk. It felt good to be out of the hospital. He was excited about getting back to active duty.

  11

  Late Winter 1989

  SOMETHING THREATENING JERKED LUKE BACK to the present and back to active duty, leaving his day dreams of earlier times instantly forgotten. Luke’s position hadn’t changed; he still lay concealed high on the hillside as he watched the approaching enemy below. Rain continued to mist down in light sheets, obscuring distant detail. It had gotten lighter, he noticed, although dense patches of fog still clung to the valley below.

  “Damn. I’ve got to quit this daydreaming crap. I wish the team was here, I could sure use their help,” he said faintly.

  Something had alerted him, drawn him back from his vivid daydreams, but what? At first it came as a faint smell and then it was confirmed with the snap of a twig down below; the enemy was near. His subconscious mind, which had been monitoring the terrain all along, brought him back to full alert as it had done on many previous missions; his daydreaming was over. Now he must worry about surviving, and he must get back to HQ and report on what he saw here. He wished now he hadn’t volunteered for this solo mission. They had needed the best, so he volunteered. Finally he understood the meaning of “don’t volunteer.”

  “Damn it. Where the hell are those fuckin’ choppers when you really need ’em? I need one now, not in two weeks,” he said under his breath. With his sleeve, he wiped the cold, stinging sweat from his eyes. The taut muscles in his cheeks flexed, pulsing as he spoke.

  Surveying the perimeter once more, he saw patrols crisscrossing the lower ridge off to his left. At a greater distance, major troop concentrations covered most of the level ground off to the right as well. As far as he could see in the fog, he saw the enemy everywhere. The fog seemed to be rising.

  “I hope it keeps up,” he thought, knowing if the fog continued to hang to the ground there would be no way for a chopper to come for him.

  The scent he detected earlier told him at least one person was behind him higher on the ridgeline–that was the direction of the slight breeze. It was also the direction he expected the chopper to come from. Precious time was running out.

  “With all this activity it’s obvious that they know I’m here,” he reasoned out loud. “Why else would they be combing the hillside in this manner? They have me surrounded and they are closing in on all sides,” he said to himself. His voice was not a whisper any longer. No sign of panic or fear existed in his tone; he was once again the calm professional.

  “I’ll be damned if those gooks are going to get me the same way they got the rest of my team,” he said through clenched teeth. The muscles in his jaw flexed constantly as he again put the binoculars to his eyes. “If I’m goin’ to buy the fuckin’ farm I might as well take a bunch of them with me.”

  With that thought he started making cold, deliberate plans. Very few people in the world could draw on the experience and training he had. He knew he was ready for the task. Every day for years he maintained an exercise regimen that would have killed most men. He took black belt military martial arts training twice a week to stay in shape–just to be prepared for events such as this. Even so most people would have thought him crazy for taking on the NVA battalion like this. But what choice did he have?

  His position had been chosen because it provided good cover. It easily allowed him to come and go without being detected. He decided to attack to the left first; the enemy patrols seemed most spread out there, and it had dense cover. Quickly he grabbed his M-I6, placed his ammo pouch over his head and shoulder and began his attack.

  “Sure be nice if some grenades were left,” he thought as he scooted rapidly down the narrow trail.

  Able to crawl to a good vantage point directly in line with an advancing enemy patrol, he concealed himself. From there he saw three Charlie walking single file up the steep trail toward him. They were spread out, with fifteen feet between them. With that knowledge he decided to work backwards up their line, attacking the rear guard first. He took out his razor sharp knife, one he had spent many quiet hours sharpening the seven-inch blade. He laid down parallel to the trail under the edge of medium size bush about eighteen inches off the beaten path. Next, he covered himself completely with dead leaves, now damp from the rain, and waited. The first four VC strode by unaware. He prepared to move as the final straggler moved past.

  All of the enemy except his victim were out of sight around a bend in the steep trail as he made his move. Following a routine he had performed many times, he silently sprang up and took the necessary single long stride to grab and silence the soldier, grasping him tightly around the neck as he inserted the knife in what he knew to be a lethal point. The body fell limp in his arms and he gently laid it off to time side of the trail without making a sound.

  With a smirk he thought, “The patrol is lax, not expecting me to take the offensive. Assholes.” Because of this he was able to quickly move up the trail and take the next Charlie from behind without causing any ruckus. The point man spotted him just after he finished off his last team member. As the VC swung his weapon around, Luke’s knife caught him full force in the throat just below the chin. He dropped like a stone to the ground, his body arching and then it began jerking violently as it moved into death. His countless hours of practice throwing the unbalanced knife had paid off.

  “Shit. I hit a little high on that one. Almost fucked it up,” Eyes murmured to himself, completely ignoring the fact that he had just killed a fellow human being.

  After retrieving his knife and wiping it clean on the dead man’s clothes, Luke silently made his way over the ridge to where he figured he’d make contact with another patrol. Always he stayed in the shadows as he moved forward.

  Although the brush was very thick and no trails went to where he wanted to go, it didn’t take him long to traverse the ridge. Experience told him the best routes. Once over the top, he immediately spotted a patrol working its way up a hogback toward him. He decided to use a different technique this time. Finding just the right diameter limb in a nearby tree, he scaled the tree and lay on the large limb, placing himself just above the trail. His camouflage was perfect; he looked like part of the tree.

  The patrol slowly came up the ridge in a flanking maneuver, which meant that Luke only had to worry about the single VC who passed beneath him. The other VC were fifteen or twenty yards to his sides. Luke lay still as he listened for the approaching enemy.

  The way Luke lay he couldn’t see the approaching
man; he had to rely on a few twigs he placed on the trail to give the alarm. As Luke heard them break one at a time, he knew it would be only moments until Charlie passed beneath him.

  With his hands grasping both rings of the deadly enhanced razor garrote, he lay perfectly still, waiting. As the unusually large figure passed beneath, Luke swiftly leaned out and down, his legs hooked around the large branch, and he dropped the razor embedded wire around his victim’s neck. Arching his back, Luke tightened the wire, pulling extra hard with his right arm and holding firm with his left just as he had been taught in training. There was a momentary straining as Luke lifted the enemy from the ground slightly, then as the razors did their work the body fell to the ground. The head rolled separately down the hill, following the trail a short distance before rolling into a nearby bush. The smell of copper hit Luke’s nostrils as blood gushed from the quivering body. The moment it was over, Luke lowered the body to the ground. He began stalking his next prey, never glancing again at his headless victim.

  The attack continued. Luke grew more courageous and bolder. He put himself on automatic pilot and followed his instincts.

  “Now those bastards are fighting back,” he whispered as a smile spread across his face. Now that he had taken charge, Eyes felt much of the tension relieved. He felt like his old self again; he was at the top of his form. A feeling of elation and joy consumed him. No longer did he feel like the hunted; once again he was the hunter.

  He heard muted voices, some fairly close by. They were yelling back and forth as they found more and more of his handy-work.

  “God, I hope those fuckin’ choppers get here soon. I don’t know how much longer I can stay concealed,” he said in a normal volume. Even though it was a gray, damp morning, he was drenched in sweat.

  It was then that he heard the first faint familiar sounds of a chopper coming in from the east. Luke felt a tremendous flow of relief. From the sound bouncing off the hills he couldn’t make out what type it was. He imagined they’d sent some sort of gunship, but he wouldn’t put it past them to send one of those new little Bumble Bees either. The Bumble Bee was a small two-man chopper used almost exclusively for observation. Just as long as they came, he didn’t care what type of bird they used.

  As he raised his head above the brush to see if he could spot the chopper, he heard automatic weapon fire. Several rounds ripped foliage all around him. Noting where the fire was coming from, about sixty yards to the northwest on another ridge a bit lower, he moved off along the hillside to a better vantage point, one protected from the fire. Bracing himself against a tree trunk, he took careful aim with his M16 rifle. With a single shot he dropped the sniper. Seeing others out in the open, he opened fire. They all dove for cover. Almost as soon as he got his shots off, he heard the sound of return fire. Bullets shattered dirt all around him, missing only by inches.

  “Want a fuckin’ firefight do you? I’ll show you a firefight!” He switched his weapon to automatic fire and sent a burst down the hillside. He heard several screams of pain from below. “Die you mothafuckers!” Eyes faded back into the hush, heading to another vantage point.

  Someone screamed off to his left. As he turned to see how far off the enemy was, he felt a sharp burning sensation in his left shoulder. The impact of the bullet threw him to the ground, knocking his weapon away. It landed a few feet away. As he lay on his side, he made mental note as to his status.

  It must just be a flesh wound he thought otherwise I’d feel more pain. A growing bloodstain smeared the front of his uniform.

  On his second try he succeeded in standing, but still felt wobbly, weak. His wound was bleeding heavily. He halted just long enough to give himself first aid, stuffing a large compress over the wound. He found his rifle nearby and wiped the soil and damp leaves from it. Wincing, he shut out the pain. Once again in control, he began to look around. Ignoring the shots landing all around him, he faded back further into the safety and shadows of the dense brush.

  The chopper noise could be heard again, louder now. Eyes froze and listened. This time it was much closer. Judging from the sound, it would be coming over his ridge any minute. It had been a long time since he used the last of his pin flares, but he still thought about them. He had to signal the chopper, but how? He decided to make his way up the ridge to the small clearing: his designated LZ. Under fire they weren’t supposed to try to land, but what choice did he have? The pilot would at least be able to see him there. He thought it was his best chance.

  Stiffness overtook him as he began to climb the last few yards to the LZ. It took most of his remaining energy to scale the last few steep yards to the edge of the clearing. Now all he had to do was wait. His plan was simple enough. He would show himself the instant the chopper came into view–until then he would stay concealed, hidden in the shadows.

  Seated, leaning back against a tree trunk, rifle at the ready, he waited. “The timing is going to be as close as it was that time up north,” Luke mumbled. Smiling he thought the guys will wait to the last fuckin’ minute before they rescue him. “Assholes,” he said out loud. He let the smile remain on his face long after the comment died.

  The yelling of the enemy was getting closer now. Luke couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Before long they would be on top of him. That he was sure of. It was then that Luke saw the chopper approaching, coming in fast and low, following the terrain. Getting up from his seated position took all of his strength. He was getting stiffer and weaker, and the pain was increasing. The whole left side of his uniform was now covered with sticky blood. He ignored it all as he slowly stepped to the edge of the clearing. He saw the chopper swerve in his direction, still over 150 yards off.

  “Fuck, they’ve seen me and they’re going to do it! God bless ’em! They’re going to come and get me,” he said. Now every thought was spoken. He was amazed at their bravery under fire.

  Luke could see the large white letters spelling MARINE on the side of the chopper. Tears began to run down his face as he realized they were going to save him. The tears were also from the pride he felt at being part of the Marines. His brothers were coming to save him. Even if it meant putting their asses on the line. He wiped his eyes free of tears and waited. Tired, but strangely at peace, he was not worried any longer. The Marine Corps would save him. Semper Fi. The proof was the chopper quickly narrowing the distance toward him.

  Someone leaned part way out from the side door of the chopper. Luke wanted to wave but he didn’t have the energy. The man was leaning against the forward door frame as the chopper sped toward Luke’s position, narrowing the distance to less than fifty yards. Admiration flowed from Luke as he saw the risk the man was taking. Luke was always amazed at the risks rescue teams took. Today was no different. Luke began to smile, knowing the routine. In a couple of minutes he would be out of here, safely flying back to Da Nang.

  As the pilot approached, he moved the aircraft somewhat sideways to Luke’s position, now exposing the crewman fully.

  Surprised, Luke could see clearly what was about to happen. But it was too late. Before Luke could raise his weapon completely, he saw the muzzle blast from the man’s rifle, and felt the impact of the bullet in his chest. He felt himself flying backwards in the air, tumbling into the thick bushes. A numbing feeling consumed his entire body. Then he passed out.

  Opening his eyes sometime later, Luke saw the blurred, dark silhouettes of people milling around him. For some reason he couldn’t move. Nor could he see the large pool of blood forming around his middle, quickly draining his life force away. But he felt calm because of it. He was beyond pain.

  It was strange, but he could understand everything they were saying–usually he missed a few words when they spoke Vietnamese rapidly. “It figures,” he thought sarcastically, unable to speak. “Now that I can understand them this good, I’ll probably be a prisoner- of-war.”

  “l wonder who in the hell he is?” said one of the strangers who was wearing a cowboy hat.

&nbs
p; “Some wacko for sure,” said another. “Probably some idiot trying to live out his Soldier of Fortune magazine fantasy,” someone standing nearby volunteered.

  “Not hardly,” said the leader. “This man knew what he was doing. He’s a professional. Our preliminary count shows that he killed fourteen of our search party this morning, wounded eight others. We believe strongly that he is responsible for fourteen other deaths over the past eleven years. Someone playing war wouldn’t be able to do that. He didn’t make any mistakes until just now. The thing I can’t figure out, though, is what caused him to walk out in that clearing like he owned it? If he hadn’t, we probably never would have got him. Get medical help for him. Right away.”

  “Roger, Boss” said a man nearby as he spoke into a radio. “Search his pockets and see if you can find any ID on him,” prompted another official standing nearby.

  “Yeah, he’s got a wallet with a driver’s license in it. It says his name is Luke Sims and he is forty-three years old. He lives up in Kensington Heights area, not far from here. Here’s a student ID card. Hey, he’s got a Veteran’s blue plastic ID card too,” replied the assistant.

  “Get on the radio and see what you can find out about him, pronto,” said the leader.

  “Yes, sir.” It wasn’t long before the radio attached to the leader’s waist came alive with the report on Luke Sims.

  “Boss, we have the info on Sims now. Do you want me to read it?” asked a voice on the speaker.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Roger. It says here that Luke Sims is a Vietnam War hero. He made sergeant over there. He’s a heavily decorated Force Recon Marine who served most of a twelve month tour in Vietnam and earned a Silver Star, with three clusters, and other medals for his repeated valor, including a Purple Heart. He somehow single handedly saved his unit from sure death. He was shipped home after suffering a mental breakdown in July 1967–medical records show it was caused by the guilt he felt over not being with his Recon team the night they were all killed. For the past nine years he has been an outpatient at the VA hospital up in La Jolla, being treated for mild psychotic behavior, depression and feelings of extreme guilt. That’s it, sir. That’s all we’ve got. Anything else you need?”