When Can I Stop Running?

by John Podlaski

  It was usually close to midnight when we left Carmen’s house, and since storytime normally occurred on a weekday, the streets were mostly bare, silent and dark. Only a few porch lights provided a hint of illumination, overtaking the shadows on the sidewalk. The street lights directed a sphere of light downward onto the pavement, providing a brief respite from the dark.

  During our walk home, we’d all be deep in thought about Mama Devilme’s stories. Initially, there ‘d be some light chatter when the girls were still with us, but now – fifteen minutes later – one only heard sneakers shuffling on the sidewalk.

  I can’t explain it, but this happened every time: one person in our group would think they heard something ominous or saw something hiding in the nearby bushes and would suddenly sprint away. Those remaining had absolutely no idea of what spooked our friend, but within a single heartbeat, we were all following and running for our lives with heads turned every which way, looking for the threat. We’d all run fast and hard, with nobody saying a word. Finally, we’d stop at the end of the block to catch our breath. Each of us gasped for air, bent over with hands on our kneecaps to keep us from collapsing. As we tried to slow our rapid breathing, our heads would turn, looking deep within the shadows behind us for an answer. Once it came, we never questioned each other. If one person thought he heard or saw something alarming, that was good enough for the rest of us. Later – once we felt secure and were thankful that we were still whole – we all laughed about the incident and then poked fun at each other, mimicking the contorted faces of terror we made during the run for our lives. After we calmed down, the trek home continued without further incident.

  We followed the same route home every week; guys peeled off as they reached their homes and the rest of us continued onward. It was funny watching them quickly scamper up the stairs and exhibit an exaggerated sigh of relief when reaching the porch.

  As it turned out, Wayne and I were always the last two remaining because we lived the farthest away. As close friends in the neighborhood, we made a pact some time ago and agreed to split the difference, so I wouldn’t have to walk so far by myself. We passed Wayne’s house, continuing together for another block to the halfway point between our houses. On a silent signal and nod, we’d split up and run in two different directions to reach home, not stopping until we were inside the front door.

  I may have scared my mother on occasion when I barged through the front door, bent over and breathing hard. She’d jump up from her chair with a confused look on her face. “What’s wrong?” she’d ask, the expression slowly changing to one of worry. She’d push past me, then lift the side of the shade and peek out. “Who’s chasing you?”

  “Nobody, Mom!” I replied between gasps. “I just left Wayne and wanted to get home quickly.” She frequently didn’t believe me and would continue to look out the window, searching the street for several more seconds.

  “You kids are going to kill me,” she scolded, then settled back into her chair, refocusing her attention on the television.

  One of those times when I was racing home, I spotted my younger sister and some of her friends chatting on our front porch. I stopped suddenly and sidestepped into the shadows of our neighbors’ lawn where they couldn’t see me. Standing there in the darkness, I attempted to catch my breath and slow down the rapid beating of my heart. My pride wouldn’t allow them to see me in my state of panic. When I got myself together, I stepped back onto the sidewalk and began walking like a great pimp in the night. None of the girls saw me approaching until I was on the walkway leading to the porch; the nearest girl yelped in fright, which visibly startled the others.

  “Oh, it’s only my brother,” my sister dismissed. Relieved, the others started giggling.

  “Where are you coming from?” she demanded. Four pairs of eyes pierced through the darkness awaiting my response. I recognized their faces from earlier visits to the house. My sister, Christine, was having another sleepover with her twelve year-old friends. All wore shortie pajamas and snuggled up together on the glider. A folding snack table in front of them held a large bowl of Better Made potato chips and four chilled glasses of Vernors “pop” – Detroit’s nickname for soda.

  “A bunch of us were at Carmen’s listening to her mom tell stories,” I told her nonchalantly.

  “And you walked all the way from her house?” she gasped incredulously.

  “Yeah, it’s not far.” I reached into the bowl of chips and grabbed a handful before turning to the door.

  “Yes, it is!” Christine declared emphatically. Looking at her friends, she continued, “She lives way on the other side of the expressway, more than a mile away,” she explained and pointed to the west. Christine turned back toward me. “It’s late! Weren’t you scared out there by yourself?” she asked.

  I chuckled at the question. “Of what? The boogeyman?” I mused, as the girls looked at one another with saucer-sized eyes.

  “Not funny! Somebody could have jumped you!” Christine scolded. “Guys from that street gang, the LaGrand Boys, have been driving up and down the street and have jumped whites for no reason at all. I heard it’s part of their initiation into the gang or something! Just the other day, my friend’s brother got beat with a baseball bat and got hurt real bad!”

  “Yeah, I heard about him. He was a dumbass for walking through their territory. At least I know better to stay a couple of blocks this side of their street.”

  “I know you can’t outrun a car!” Sis challenged.

  “No, but I can jump fences and get away from a car. Remember, this is our neighborhood, and I know some pretty clever hiding places if I’m chased. Besides, if they tried to jump me, I can take care of myself,” I bragged, puffing out my chest and opening the screen door.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Christine called as I walked into the house. Through my peripheral vision, I could see the other girls becoming animated and begin talking all at once. I couldn’t quite make out their conversation and only caught a word here and there: “... brave... wow... I couldn’t...” Thankfully, my act was successful. Had I not seen them when I did, I would have surely been embarrassed by my fear and would never hear the end of it.

  On the way to my bedroom, I thought about the gang comment Christine made and shuddered. Who was I fooling? It IS dangerous out on the streets. Along with the LaGrand Boys, street gangs like the Bishops and Chene Gang routinely sought out one another. The Harper Recreation Bowling Alley was only a couple blocks from my home; gang fights erupted periodically in the parking lot on Saturday nights. Handguns were rare at that time, so combatants fought with fists, bats, pipes, chains and knives; blood splotches were often visible on the pavement the following morning. Motorcycle gangs such as the Highwaymen and Renegades regularly scuffled in the parking lots of both the Top Hat and White Castle restaurants on Eight Mile and Gratiot Roads. These were older guys in their 20’s, and once the fights started, an exodus of cars left quickly for fear of damage to their cars or person. Word on the street was that the Purple Gang was still active, but their members were much older and supported other causes.

  In hindsight, looking back at my youth, running was always the immediate response to fear. I wondered at what age that would finally stop. My sister and her friends never did find out the truth about “Christine’s brave big brother, John” ... that is, until now.

  NINE – LISTENING POST (MIDNIGHT)

  Jungle insects and other nocturnal creatures resumed playing their exotic music. The earlier infiltration of their habitat no longer posed a threat; it was safe again to seek out mates. Their activity and sound provided a calming effect on those humans nearby in the Listening Post.

  Polack suddenly stiffened, turned his head slightly and tried to focus in the darkness. Listening intently, he waited for the specific sound to repeat itself. The symphony continued at full tilt; crickets and monkeys seemingly making the most noise. He heard the faint fluttering of a bird overhead as it flitted from tree to tree. Then,
all at once, the bird called out in the darkness, “REEEE-UP... REEEE-UP... REEEE-UP”. It sounded like the deep baritone croak of a frog – nothing like a bird. It moved to another location and repeated its mating call. There was no response, but nevertheless, Polack smiled broadly, glad to have the bird to keep him company.

  One specimen of lizard in the jungle had an unusual mating call that sounded like a bathtub floating toy when squeezed. Its call was high-pitched and completed in two parts. The first, sounding like “FAAA” was sort of a whistle, a sharp trill that rose in octaves. The second sounded more like a sigh, “CUE”, as if the lizard were exhaling. Together, its mating call sounded like “FAAA-CUE... FAAA-CUE.”

  On some occasions, these two creatures were both nearby and called out to one another. The bird called out, “REEE-UP” (an acronym for re-enlisting in the military) and the lizard responded with “FAAA-CUE.” Sometimes it would go on for hours and it was hilarious.

  Both the Blue Eared Barbet bird and Tokay Gecko Lizards are plentiful in the jungles of Vietnam; each call out to mates during the still of night, and would often keep American soldiers company during their nightly watches. Their croaks and whistles were well known to the men. However, both creatures were better known by their slang names: “re-up bird” and “fuck you” lizard. That night, both serenaded Polack.

  A mortar flare suddenly popped overhead, close to the treeline and near the LP position, interrupting Polack’s symphony. Hearing this noise, LG awoke instantly and joined Polack in watching the bright light nearby. It burst in the sky right where the treeline and the east trail intersected. An hour ago, it would have caught the enemy platoon by surprise while they took their break.

  Every creature immediately stopped its chatter once the flare exploded, remaining still while the light pulsated over the area. The breeze continued to blow from the west and soon carried the parachute over the LP’s position. Both men froze, knowing full well that movement in the flickering light is exaggerated and would be bound to expose them. The flare, like a spotlight, showered both men with throbbing beams of light. Their only choice was to keep still and continue watching their front, riveted until the light went out. Everything appeared surreal and shifted under the floating torch, opening the door to their imaginations. The parachute soon snagged on a treetop and burned itself out. Although the harrowing experience lasted just a few minutes, it felt like their lives had been suspended for an hour.

  It was now 0045 hours. LG decided to stay awake since his watch was starting in another fifteen minutes anyway, and he urged Polack to take his break. However, something still wasn’t right. Several minutes had passed since the spotlight went out, and the jungle creatures should have been singing again. The quiet concerned both men, who quickly returned to a guarded posture. They remained silent and still, both wishing they had super powers to help identify any threat. ‘Why did the firebase fire the flare in the first place when nobody radioed in to ask for illumination? Did they see something? Were they looking for the enemy platoon?’ Both asked themselves the same questions and then paused as if some higher power was going to answer them. ‘Why didn’t the enemy column run into Rock’s ambush by now? It was highly impossible that the enemy platoon passed undetected. They are still out there somewhere between the LP and Rock’s position.’ Polack and LG’s sense of foreboding moved up a few notches. They fidgeted some to get more comfortable and tried desperately to spot anything in the pitch black darkness.

  Suddenly, they heard the sound of a mortar tube firing some distance away: “Thunk... Thunk... Thunk.” Without knowing the target, both LP’s buried themselves into the ground and prayed that the rounds weren’t heading their way. Polack reached up and grabbed ahold of the good luck charm hanging from his neck, squeezed it tightly in the palm of his right hand, then said a silent prayer for his protection. After what felt like an eternity, three back-to-back explosions sounded from within the firebase, “Crump – Crump – Crump.” The blasts were loud and violent, sounding much larger than 60 mm rounds, and were most likely 82 mm mortar rounds. Polack and LG breathed a sigh of relief and then raised their heads skyward in thanks. Just then, the Red Alert alarm in the new firebase began wailing, and sounding like a fire engine siren in slow motion, the tempo became faster as the seconds passed. Several rounds of illumination launched from the firebase, popping high above the camp perimeter, focusing more on the eastern side. All at once, LG and Polack heard the enemy mortar fire again: “Thunk... Thunk... Thunk”, from the same location meant three more rounds on the way. Seconds later, “Crump... Crump... Crump,” announced the rounds impacting deeper into the firebase perimeter.

  Polack had informed Thunder 3 right after the first three rounds were fired. He provided an azimuth from the LP and estimated the distance at 300 meters, possibly more. Rock had also heard the firing and forwarded the direction and distance from his position. Once the information was received and plotted, a single 105 mm round fired from the battery, erupting some distance to the front of the LP. Rock quickly made a correction: “add one-hundred, left one-hundred.” The artillery group was still calculating the new trajectory when the enemy mortars let loose with another volley of three rounds. The cannon fired once more before the artillery crew took cover – the mortars landed just outside the battery’s sandbagged enclosure. While the cannoneers recovered, Rock saw that the 105 mm shell landed right where he wanted, and called into the handset, “On target, fire for effect!” Seconds later, the entire battery of six cannons fired in unison; the sound almost deafening to the men downrange as the large guns fired in their direction. The projectiles passed overhead and sounded like an express commuter train rushing past a platform. Their detonations reverberated across the ground and lifted the two men into the air after each volley. The battery fired four more times, sending a total of twenty-four high explosive rounds overhead. Small adjustments between volleys allowed the gunners to move the detonations around and saturate the general area. The enemy mortar crews were silenced after the first full-battery volley.

  The LP could see flickering flames in the distance as small fires erupted in the vicinity of the detonations. There was plenty of dead wood laying about and the chance of them burning out quickly was not going to happen. From this distance, the dense vegetation made the glowing flames look more like a handful of flashlights or small camp fires. They were also glad that a giant forest fire wouldn’t engulf them in a few hours – no need to be concerned about that due to the moist, verdant foliage. One less thing to worry about!

  Thankfully, the brass opted not to send out a patrol into the area looking for bodies. The officers there were more concerned about the safety of their people instead of sending them out to count bodies and collect souvenirs. ‘Moving through this pitch black jungle at night would be suicide... how can Charlie continuously do it? Oh, that’s right... this is his backyard!’

  Thunder 3 informed everyone tuned into the frequency that the enemy mortar crew must have had a spotter with a radio somewhere near the camp perimeter, as the placement of the enemy rounds was just too accurate for chance hits.

  ‘Fuck... fuck... fuck!’ Hearing this new information, Polack and LG understood that changes would need to be made in their position. Earlier, it wasn’t a big deal to keep tabs on the area behind them because it was assumed the firebase monitored it. Now that there was a possibility that someone might be sneaking around behind them, it was necessary to watch a full 360 degrees around their position.

  Both men scooted around to the side of the trees they’d been using as backrests; one man now faced north and the other south. When looking east now, both men could see a lighter backdrop about 200 meters away, due to the small fires still smoldering here and there. They weren’t bright enough to lighten the jungle, but would make it possible to spot a silhouette in that direction, in the event that the enemy was lurking nearby.

  This was where the jungle ended and the bulldozed clearing began. Everything was still dark when look
ing over that way, but at least, trees, branches, and hanging vines were now able to be identified. Both men were now confident that if an enemy soldier with a radio dared to cross against the lighter backdrop, he’d be easily recognized.

  ‘What do we do if we see him? Too far for a grenade, can’t shoot at him from the LP, bunkers can’t open fire without putting us in danger. We’ll have to call it in and let the powers that be decide. They’ll probably use mortars. Maybe a sniper. Maybe a gunship. Shit... Shit... Shit!’

  About thirty minutes later, the jungle creatures began stirring again and celebrating, their calls excited and urgent this time. Even though the full symphony resumed a few moments later, Polack and LG still felt uneasy and remained on one hundred percent alert. The enemy spotter, mortar crew, and missing enemy platoon were still out there, all were intent to kill Americans under the cloak of darkness.

  TEN – LISTENING POST (0100 HOURS)

  LG had the radio handset to his ear when Thunder 3 called at 1 a. m. for the sit-rep that was scheduled every hour. The monotone voice sounded like the soldier on duty was both tired and burned out; he struggled through the calls, hesitating at times for several seconds before calling the next unit on the list. Those who listened guessed that he was either dozing off or bleeding off his adrenaline surge from the camp’s earlier mortar barrage, and was now both physically and mentally exhausted.

  The jungle serenade continued in earnest, leaving both men in the LP more comfortable and relaxed. Thirty minutes passed since Thunder 3’s last check, and Polack seriously contemplated his option to go back to sleep, leaving LG to complete his watch alone.

  Polack tapped LG’s shoulder, ready to inform him that he was turning in, when suddenly a bright flash lit up the jungle to their southeast, immediately followed by a thunderous explosion, startling both of them. Gunfire erupted, sounding at first like a single M-16, then growing in intensity as others joined the fray. Seconds later, three smaller explosions sounded – possibly grenades – echoing in the darkness before the deep, throaty sound of an M60 machine gun began. The distinct pop-pop sound of AK-47s soon joined the cacophony of sound. Red and green tracer rounds ricocheted into the air, and went skipping across the sky like shooting stars.