All at once, Ron emerged like a spooked partridge from a corner of the miniature jungle where the alley and side street met, then bolted down the middle of the street away from us and the police.
At the same time, we heard the cruiser doors slam; the single red chase light on the roof came to life, sending angry beams of pulsating light from the vehicle. Tires squealed, the smell of burning rubber wafted in the air. The squad car fishtailed as it sped down the side street after Ron.
The three of us jumped to our feet simultaneously, but only Wayne could see the road.
“Is the coast clear?” I asked anxiously.
“As far as I can see,” Wayne responded.
“Where do you think he went?” Paul asked.
“No idea. Let’s get back to the car!” I threw out.
“What about Ron?” Paul asked.
“He’ll hook back up with us. Run!” Wayne commanded.
We ran like death was chasing us. Our wet pant legs added weight, impeding our speed. By the time we reached the car, I was shaking so badly that I couldn’t get the key in the door lock to open it. Wayne and Paul were hollering almost hysterically, “Hurry!” which didn’t help to calm me a bit.
“Come on man, they’re gonna catch us!”
I threw the keys over the roof to Wayne, who quickly opened the passenger door, slid across the bench seat and opened both my door and the back for Paul.
“Now what?” I asked
“We can’t just leave Ron. He’ll show up here, so we gotta wait,” Wayne said.
“What if the cops pull up? They’ll nab us for sure,” Paul questioned, his eyes nervously darting up and down the street.
“Just keep cool and relax,” Wayne cautioned. “We’ll give him fifteen minutes.”
The sudden glare of headlights in the side-view mirror startled me. “Car coming, get the fuck down!” I shouted to the others.
Wayne and I slid down in the front seat, bending over sideways till the tops of our heads touched in the middle of the bench seat; Paul dove onto the rear seat floorboards. We waited patiently, praying the vehicle would pass without stopping, but something wasn’t right – it was moving too slowly. I straightened and risked a quick look through the side mirror. “Shit!” I yelped, hitting the floor again. “It’s the cops! They’re driving real slow and checking both sides of the street with their spotlight.”
“Keep cool and relax,” Wayne warned, “and crack those windows a bit, they’re starting to fog up!”
Wayne and I moved quickly, turning the hand crank a half turn to open the windows about a quarter. Not hearing a response from the back seat, Wayne ordered again, “Paul, crack the windows back there!”
“I can’t move, man. I’m stuck!” came a muffled voice from behind the front seat.
The police cruiser was only a couple of houses back, its searchlight scouring the shrubbery and porches on both sides of the street, and moving forward at a crawl. A beacon of light radiated through our car several times during the sweeps back and forth across the road. The three of us held our breath, watching, hoping, and praying as the shadows danced through our car’s interior. Once the cruiser was ahead of us, the light show stopped but we were still afraid to move.
“Did they stop?” Paul questioned in a nervous whisper.
“I don’t think so, but I can’t tell. Quiet now!”
“Listen,” Wayne announced. “The engine noise and exhaust is fading away. They’ve passed!”
Breathing a sigh of relief, I shimmied up for a peek – just to verify – and saw that the squad car was now three houses down. “We’re cool for now. They’re almost at the end of the block.”
Suddenly, a rapid banging against the passenger window interrupted the quiet. A large shadow blocked any light that entered through the glass. It startled us, prompting a loud, simultaneous shriek from the three of us. I mean, a shrill, high-pitched, girl-like scream emitted from our car.
“Guys, quit screaming like bitches and open the fucking door!”
Wayne quickly unlocked the back door, and Ron jumped in head-first sprawling across the back seat, landing right on top of Paul.
“Ron, how...!” I started.
“Help!” Paul choked. “I’m stuck and can’t breathe!”
I pulled up the lever on the side of the front seat, and then Wayne and I shifted our bodies forward to move the bench seat closer to the dashboard. Ron reached down and pulled Paul up by his belt, freeing him to breathe again.
“I’ll tell ya later. Right now, let’s start this piece of shit and get the hell out of here!”
I started the car and made a three-point turn, racing to the end of the block and then turning south onto Gratiot Rd. toward home. Our heavy breathing was the only sound heard for the next five minutes.
“So you all screamed just like chicks back there. Wait until I let everyone know,” Ron broke the silence and giggled.
Protests arose from the three of us, threatening Ron with multiple dismemberments if he were to squeal on us. Then just like that, we all broke into boisterous laughter, so hard and continuous that I had to pull over to the curb.
“What happens when we can’t run anymore?” Paul gasped.
“Then the devil catches you and takes you to Hell,” Wayne hollered above the loud guffaws.
“Are we going back to check out the witches’ house tomorrow night?” Ron asked.
“Are you crazy?” Paul challenged.
Ron looked over at him and grinned. “Nope! We need to get a better look next time!”
“Not this guy,” I called out from the driver’s seat. “I couldn’t survive another night like this one!”
“I’m sitting the next one out, too,” Paul said. “I know I’m going to hurt tomorrow as it is. I probably have bruised ribs, and blisters on my feet.”
“I’ll go back with you!” Wayne volunteered, reaching into the back seat so Ron could slap his hand to seal the deal.
“Well then, it’s you and me, brother.”
If Wayne and Ron ever did go back, they never shared the adventure with the rest of us. I often wondered if their spoken plan to return was just an act of bravado in front of Paul and me. Clearly, we all had the shit scared out of us that night.
Although I remained baffled about exactly what it was that we did see that dark night, it wasn’t until years later that I found out the truth about the “Sister Witches”.
While at my ten-year high school class reunion, my classmates and I were laughing and reminiscing – as people often do – about all of the crazy mischief we had gotten into during our adolescent years. I happened to mention our spooky night of “witch hunting”, when one of the women at our table spoke up,
“Oh, don’t tell me that you were one of the kids that fell for the Dombrowski sisters’ prank?”
“... The Dombrowski sisters??” I said, not comprehending.
“Sure... I would have thought that urban legend bit the dust and was forgotten about years ago...” she smiled.
“Well, I...” I stammered, unwilling to admit that I had not yet figured out one of the most notorious mysteries of the old neighborhood.
She continued with a chuckle.
“Yeah, good ol’ Agnes and her sister Helen must’ve gotten a lot of good belly laughs out of that joke. I guess it even made the local papers. It seems that they both got tired of all of the neighborhood rumors about them being witches, and they finally got fed up with all the kids snooping around their place at night... so they made a couple of really ugly witch masks... Any time they noticed kids doing the Peeping Tom thing, they’d wait until their victims got close enough, then they’d get the masks on, and would throw up their shade and scare the crap out of ‘em. Even the police felt sorry for those ladies; there were so many kids hanging around there at night that they’d patrol their street regularly, just to shoo ‘em away. It got to be quite a thing.”
All I could do was smile weakly and slowly nod in agreement, as though I, t
oo, had been in on the hoax the whole time... I hoped my red face did not betray how clueless I’d been!
Still, I will never forget the pounding of my heart and the crushing surge of adrenaline that coursed through my body as we hid in the bushes that night. Little did I know that just two short years later, I’d find myself once again hiding in thick vegetation, hoping and praying to not be discovered. The next time, however, I’d be ten thousand miles from home in a foreign country, unable to run away, and one wrong move could mean certain death.
TWELVE – LISTENING POST (0200 HOURS)
It was almost 0300 hours when Alpha Romeo 6 reported to the CP that his group arrived at its new location and were hunkering down until daybreak. His route of travel was unknown, but it was clear that they didn’t encounter any enemy soldiers while moving stealthily through the darkness.
Polack had the sudden realization, ‘If they moved halfway between us and their first ambush site, then they’re much closer to us, probably only within 500 meters.’ He looked at LG and formed the ‘OK’ sign, to which LG acknowledged with a single nod of his head. ‘LG must be thinking the same thing. Now we can relax a little.’
He sat back and rested against the tree trunk, feeling more content now that a squad of fellow soldiers was near and could respond within minutes if help was needed.
‘This shit is still fucked up!’ LG said to himself while moving around some to ease the numbness in his behind. ‘How could my ass fall asleep and stay numb through all this tension?’ LG continued scooting around in hopes of finding his earlier comfort zone and waking his ass up. His left ear felt like it was burning, and his hands cramped, both due to his continuous monitoring of the radio.
Suddenly, from a distance to their front, they heard the sound of twigs breaking and brush being pushed aside. Both men simultaneously reacted to this new threat, sitting up straight, probing the darkness for signs of the intruder. The noise was intermittent, and the distinct sounds of small branches snapping and foliage rustling came and went as if somebody took two steps forward then waited for a few seconds before continuing. The two LP soldiers soon realized they were both holding their breath again for the umpteenth time. One thing was certain, whatever it was, it was moving straight toward them.
Polack slowly reached down, grabbed a grenade from the ground, and stuck his forefinger into the safety ring. He held it with both hands against his chest, getting ready to yank out the pin and throw the explosive baseball. At the same time, LG removed the safety on the firing device for the Claymore that covered their front, and, holding it firmly in hand, prepared to squeeze the device and trigger the mine. The movement was still out of effective range, but when triggered, the explosion would stop the enemy cold without giving up their position.
The two sat frozen to the spot. Their heads were still and facing straight ahead, but cocked slightly, straining to hear better. Both fixated on that sightless spot within the tunnel of darkness and – at this point – only trusted their sense of hearing. Nervous and sweating profusely, moisture pooled around Polack’s neckline, gravity sending small rivulets of water racing down his back. His body, reacting in kind, sent chills back up his spine, a tingling shiver occurring every time the signal reached his brain.
The beating of their hearts tripled, allowing adrenaline to move through their veins at supersonic speed. Muscles flexed in anticipation of the approaching boost of energy, and large bass drums kept pace with the system, beating loudly in their ears. Both wondered if the intruder could hear them.
Another crash startled them, the threatening noise continuing its trek in their direction. LG quickly depressed the talk button on the handset twice to alert everyone that they might be in trouble.
An instant later, a voice whispered through the handset receiver. It was so quiet that Polack was unable to hear a single word, but knew from experience what was said.
“This is Thunder 3, unit in trouble. Please respond, over!”
LG remained quiet.
Everyone’s curiosity was piqued and all waited anxiously for word from the field. After several more seconds, the same voice returned.
“This is Thunder 3,” the CP radio operator again whispered,
“Lima Papa 1, sit rep.” He started calling the field patrols on the checklist that he used every hour, trying to identify the team that was unable to talk.
LG responded by breaking squelch twice. The CP radio operator looked upward offering thanks that he succeeded in identifying them on the very first try.
“Roger, Lima Papa 1, please confirm a threat.”
LG squeezed the talk button twice again in response.
“Roger Lima Papa 1, Thunder 3 standing by. Break... Break... Break, all units, unless there is an emergency, please keep this channel clear of traffic. Thunder 3, out.”
All the other RTO’s in the battalion knew the routine and would not broadcast until receiving clearance from the CP operator. Meanwhile, all ears within the vicinity were glued to their receivers; the radio operators keeping those listening abreast of the situation.
‘What the fuck is out there?’ The crashing sound continued.
‘I wish I could see!’ LG was literally shaking in his boots.
‘It’s got to be those missing NVA soldiers that escaped from Rock’s ambush. Sons of bitches are coming right for us,’ Polack’s brain warned him. He was also aware that a well-used trail separated their hiding place from the commotion and noise to their front. ‘By the sound of it, they haven’t hit the trail yet.’
Then, with only ten feet of jungle remaining before reaching the hard-packed dirt trail, the noise stopped for good. It was still and quiet. The silence, deafening! ‘Why did the enemy point man stop the column?’
As the minutes ticked by, Polack and LG wished for a sighting, voices, or a wild boar’s grunts to identify what they were facing. Unlike the earlier situation when the enemy stopped nearby for a break, this time there was no chatter, movement through the brush, toilet breaks, or the sound of foliage being crushed as soldiers dropped in place. Five minutes later, the suspense completely unnerved both men and they broke protocol to communicate in hushed voices.
“What’s your take on this?” Polack whispered into his partner’s ear.
“Ain’t no telling!” LG responded.
“I think there’s a column of NVA out there.” Polack paused. “Do you think they have a Starlight Scope? I bet they’re looking right at us and watching to see what we do.”
“Damn, Polack! You’re freaking me out! But it’s too dark in this triple canopy, and a scope wouldn’t help them anyway.”
“Then why do you think they stopped?”
“Don’t know, brother.”
Once again, a slight rustling sound occurred in the brush where the movement had ceased earlier.
“Shhhh! Did you hear that?”
LG nodded in the affirmative. Both sat shoulder-to-shoulder and continued scanning the area before them.
After several more seconds, they heard a noise speeding through the overhead foliage, heading their way. Something landed just to their right with a crash like a metal shot put; the ground responded with a loud grunt.
‘GRENADE!’, the realization hit; the two men’s brains screamed urgently and silently. Aware of the imminent danger, both fought their fear and jumped to their feet. Polack instinctively pulled the pin on the grenade, heaving the metal ball out to his front before joining LG in a disjointed dive into the brush on their left, away from the threat. Landing in a heap on the hard ground, they quickly covered their heads and assumed a fetal position. The outbound grenade’s explosion sounded on the other side of the trail. No screams, and no sound of anyone vacating the area, but also no explosion from the enemy grenade that landed nearby.
‘Dud grenade?’
After several seconds passed, both men cautiously raised their heads and glanced back toward their former location.
“Dud?” Polack asked.
Before LG
could answer, another projectile landed to their left, prompting another evacuation – this time to the right – landing them back near their LP post. Again, no explosion. Both men looked at one another in bewilderment. LG asked the question that was currently spooling through their heads:
“What’s the chance of two duds in a row?”
Polack didn’t hesitate. He armed another grenade and lobbed it as far as he could, aiming blindly into the night. When that explosion again proved fruitless, their eyes searched through the darkness for their attacker, hoping he might inadvertently give away his hiding position. It was, however, impossible to see anything, try as they might. Suddenly, a third projectile landed on the ground, very close to the same spot where the first one landed. Once again, the men went airborne and dove into the thicket on their left. The seconds ticked by, and the men were astonished at the lack of an explosion for the third time.
“What the fuck is going on?” Polack demanded in a hushed tone. Stealth was no longer of importance, as the sounds of their crashing evasive actions and exploding grenades revealed their exact location to all – especially to whoever was toying with them.
“I don’t know, bro. This shit is a first for me.”
“Quick, let’s each grab a grenade and toss it where we think they might be before they throw another one at us.”
Without delay, they each pulled the pins and heaved the bombs out to their front before dropping on their bellies to hug the ground. Two back-to-back explosions sounded with such force that dirt and shrubbery rained down on the two men.
They remained prone, awaiting a response from their attackers. Smoke rose into the air; the latest explosions ignited small fires in the same area. The smell of cordite and burning vegetation permeated in their nostrils.
After a full minute, both heard Rock’s voice calling from the radio handset,
“Lima Papa 1, this is Alpha Romeo 6, over.”
LG groped around, looking for the handset, using Rock’s voice as a guide to locate it. He found it just as Rock completed his second call.
When Can I Stop Running? Page 9