P. O. W.

by Donald E. Zlotnik

  “Don’t close your eyes, Spencer… I want to see those baby blues.” James took a step forward but was stopped by Van Pao. She shook her head.

  The Montagnard chief watched along with the rest of his villagers. They did not need an interpreter to tell them that the American had volunteered to replace the boy on the stake. One of the village elders started beating on the gong he had carried with him to the assembly. The solitary musical instrument made the only sound in the whole village; even the animals sensed that it was best to remain quiet.

  Van Pao pointed at the boy and barked orders rapidly in Vietnamese. The guards lowered their weapons and pointed them at the villagers. A heavy 12.7mm machine gun had been rolled out on its small wheels and set up facing the group.

  The guards removed Spencer from the stake. They had not lowered him far enough to draw blood, but Spencer had been made aware of what could have happened to him. The guards picked up the nine-year-old and lowered him down on the stake. They did not stop. The boy screamed when the stake tore into his intestines. Spencer had been placed four feet in front of the stake, facing the child. One of the Montagnard warriors took a step forward and was shot. He fell to the ground and twitched a couple of times before he died. The pain was uncontrollable for the boy, and he screamed his nine-year-old lungs out. Spencer tried closing his eyes, but the child’s face remained there under his lids, etched by emotion.

  The Montagnard chief started chanting in Bru. It sounded like he was singing one of their spirit songs, but what the old man was doing was cursing the North Vietnamese and pledging a blood feud. The villagers took turns answering the old man and pledging themselves and their offspring until there would be no one left to carry on the battle with the NVA. It was extremely unusual, but even the women made the pledge. Lieutenant Van Pao should have learned the Bru language. She would have saved her country thousands of soldiers’ lives, because with the single execution of the boy she had turned four hundred Bru into fanatics.

  Spencer couldn’t take the boy’s screams anymore. He started praying out loud, begging that the boy would die quickly, before he went insane watching the cruel execution of the child.

  The NVA guards forced the Bru back to their village and took Garibaldi back to his cage. Spencer Barnett was left alone, tied up and sitting four feet in front of the boy impaled on the stake. One of the guards showed a sign of mercy and placed both of his hands on the youth’s shoulders and shoved down hard. The sharp bamboo stake tore through the child’s chest cavity and stopped when his rear pressed against the ground. The stake had penetrated all the way to the boy’s throat cavity.

  The Montagnard boy’s eyes bulged and his mouth opened to allow the blood to gush out. The child died with a soft rush of air coming out of his lungs.

  Spencer was left sitting in front of the child all night long. He kept his eyes closed and struggled to keep his sanity.

  The Bru chief instructed his elders, and during the night the whole Bru village disappeared; animals, belongings, everything except the longhouses was gone when the sun came up the next morning. Lieutenant Van Pao would start receiving reports of missing NVA soldiers and messengers before the sun rose again the next day. It would be a couple of weeks before she realized the full impact of her deed.

  Spencer felt the sun against his face but refused to open his eyes. He could hear the flies landing on and taking off from the small body in front of him. He continued to struggle with his mind. He must live for revenge.

  The sun was almost directly overhead when a pair of guards came and cut his legs free. He couldn’t stand up, and the rush of blood to his starved legs caused a terrible pain. Spencer kept his eyes tightly shut until he had been thrown back in his cage.

  “Spencer, I’m sorry….” Garibaldi tried saying more, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Philippine Mock-up

  The C-141 Starlifter was waiting on the special restricted runway with its engines running. The two black step-vans pulled up to the jet aircraft, and McDonald’s prisoner snatch team ran into the rear of the large cargo plane. A well-trained crew helped the reconnaissance men into their seats after stacking their gear on a pallet and strapping all of it down.

  Brigadier General Seacourt sat inside of the command communications pod that had been loaded onto the aircraft earlier. He sipped a cup of black coffee and listened to the radio traffic coming in from the high-flying spy aircraft soaring over the target area in Laos. He felt the plane move to the end of the runway for takeoff and looked at his watch; they were right on schedule. He fastened his seatbelt and leaned his head back against the headrest on his leather swivel chair. A lever next to his seat locked the chair in place for takeoffs and landings.

  Woods looked around the dark aircraft and saw the olive-drab communications pod and another one of the portable containers strapped down on the roller bearings that were used to slide heavy cargo to the back of the aircraft. David had been surprised when the vans pulled up to the Starlifter instead of to helicopters. He was puzzled, along with the rest of the team—except for Master Sergeant McDonald, who knew that they were flying to the island of Palawan in the Philippine archipelago.

  The Air Force crew served the team hot dinners from the food warmers that had been brought on board, and beer and wine were served with the meal. Woods listened to rock music over the headsets in the lounge chair he occupied. Two pallets of specially designed first-class seats had been loaded aboard the Starlifter for the flight, and all of the team relaxed in the luxury.

  The three Bru recon team members toyed with their food and laughed when Sergeant Cooper and Lieutenant Nappa showed them how the headsets worked. The Montagnards pulled the headsets off their ears each time one of the Special Forces men put them on the tribesmen.

  McDonald checked to make sure all of his men were taken care of and opened the door to the communications pod where the general was waiting for him.

  “Hello, Sergeant.” Seacourt held out his hand. “I want to congratulate you on an excellent team prep…. They really look good.”

  “Thanks, General… but you’re too early on the congratulations. When we bring out the POWs will be the time for celebrating.”

  “I think you’ve done an excellent job, regardless… we can’t control the luck factor.” Seacourt sipped his coffee, and then realizing that he was using bad manners, added, “Would you like a cup?”

  “I’d love one, General. That’s my biggest vice… coffee.” McDonald took a seat at the same time. “What’s the intelligence on A Rum?”

  “There’s been quite a bit of traffic lately. It seems that the Montagnards have pulled out of the village lock, stock, and barrel.” Seacourt frowned. “G-2 doesn’t know what to make of it.”

  “It’s not a warning that they’re going to switch camps… is it?” McDonald felt his stomach turn. He didn’t want to lose Barnett now that they were so close to freeing him.

  “We don’t know, but we’re not taking any chances.” Sea-court tapped the edge of the table with the fingers on his free hand. “We’ve cut your Philippine trip back to one day.”

  McDonald nodded in agreement. The training would have been perfect, but it wouldn’t be worth shit if the NVA moved the POWs.

  The general and the sergeant listened to the incoming radio traffic for a few minutes, then the general slapped his leg and smiled. “I almost forgot! If you want to make a telephone call home to your wife, go ahead and use the airborne tele-link system. We’ve got a couple of hours to kill.”

  McDonald looked down into his coffee. “Thanks, General… but I don’t have anyone to call…. Do you mind if I let the men use the system?”

  “Sure! Go ahead!” Seacourt felt his face turn a little red. He didn’t know why, but he felt that he had said the wrong thing to McDonald.

  Seacourt moved to the second command pod and gave the men a little privacy for their calls home. The tele-link was a regular AT&T airborne hookup, so the
men had the normal privacy and clarity of a telephone call. McDonald had allotted ten minutes per person and had instructed each of them that they were not allowed to talk about the mission or where they were calling from, except that they were still in Vietnam. The rest of their conversations was their business.

  Arnason passed on making a call back to the States. He sat in the wide luxury seat and chain-smoked. The small ashtray in the arm of the chair was full, and he used a paper coffeecup to flick his ashes in. McDonald sat next to Arnason. It was ironic that both of the American warriors had lost their families, one through a tragic accident and the other through a tragic divorce.

  McDonald let his thoughts wander back to the past. He recalled how his son would climb trees when he was four years old and jump down to him from the limbs. The boy had total trust in him. McDonald smiled. He was remembering the day he had been cutting his lawn and a neighbor stopped by to borrow a sander. He had taken a break and they were both drinking a beer and walking around his front lawn talking about the best way to grow grass. He had heard a voice in the back of his mind but had ignored it. The next thing he saw was a small body falling down from the tree he was standing next to. He dropped his beer and tried catching him, but it was too late. His son landed on the grass at his feet. McDonald caught himself breathing hard again as he sat in the aircraft recalling the incident. He thought his son had broken his neck, but the boy shook his head and struggled to his feet and gave him a look that he would never forget, followed by, “You were supposed to catch me, Dad!” That had been the first and last time that he had ever let the boy down.

  “Whatever you’re thinking about must be pretty good.” Arnason leaned over and spoke to McDonald. “You’re smiling like a Cheshire cat.”

  McDonald nodded his head. “You’re right… it is pretty good. Aren’t you going to call home?”

  “Naw… There’s nothing back there for me…. I had a bad divorce.”

  “That seems to be going around a lot lately.” McDonald looked over and saw the last man enter the communications pod for his call back home. He checked his watch and saw that they had about half an hour before arriving at the military airstrip on Palawan.

  Woods picked up the regular telephone and looked down at the touch-tone numbers. He blinked his eyes trying to recall his area code back home and his telephone number. He started to panic and then remembered the numbers. There was a short pause as the linkup was made, and then he heard a telephone ringing on the other end.

  “Hello?” It was his dad’s voice.

  “Hi, Dad…”

  A long pause filled the airwaves. “David?”

  “Yep.”

  “David! Where are you?”

  “Still in Vietnam. We have a special telephone hookup here, and the sergeant said I could make a short call…. How you doing back there in America’s heartland?”

  “It’s cold… we had some snow… but I’m doing well… just closed a big insurance deal, so your brother can stay in med school another year.” His father was rambling, but David loved it. Just hearing his comforting voice had a calming effect. “Oh, your mother is going to die when she finds out you called! She’s at the post office…. She’s working a lot of overtime… but that will be good for Christmas… more presents for you kids.” He swallowed hard and stopped rambling. “How are you doing, Davey? Are you safe?”

  “Sure, Pops! I’ve got a lot of rear-area duty…. Some time in the field, but we’ve got super NCOs and officers in the Cav!”

  “I’m glad to hear that…. Your mother goes to Mass every day and prays for you, son.”

  David nodded his head and felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. He fought hard not to let his voice break. “Tell her thanks….”

  “I saw one of your old professors from Lincoln Community College and he asked about you. He said that he’s looking forward to your coming back…. You were one of his best students…. I forgot his name.” The middle-aged man fought back the tears. He didn’t want his son to know that he was going to cry.

  “Yeah, I’ll probably do that, Dad…. When I get back… Maybe I’ll go to Georgetown and be on the same campus as Skip….”

  “You will not!” The tears rolled down his cheeks and he fought to hide the emotion in his voice. The last thing he needed was to let David know that he was crying. “I can’t afford to have two sons going there!” He tried to laugh. David knew that his father would work sweeping the streets to send him to Georgetown if he wanted to go there.

  “Well, Pops… I’ve got to go…. There are other guys waiting to make a call.”

  “So soon?”

  “Yeah…” Woods wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Tell Mom that I love her….”

  “We love you too, son… a lot.”

  “I know… Gotta go. Love you, Dad.” David hung up the phone.

  The middle-aged man dropped down in the chair next to the telephone and wept openly. He held his head in both hands. Now that his son had hung up, there were a million important things he wanted to tell him. He couldn’t believe that he had wasted the call by telling him such dumb things! He picked up the telephone and dialed his wife’s number at work.

  The C-141 Starlifter banked over the long, pencil-shaped island and lowered its landing gear. All of the team members sat in their seats facing the rear of the aircraft. Woods could feel the wheels touch down and the engines roar as they helped brake the huge jet.

  McDonald was the first one off, and he directed the team onto a military bus that had been provided for them by the Philippine Army. The ride to the secret training area was less than an hour from the airbase. Woods watched the scenery as they drove down the hard-packed dirt road and noticed that there was little difference between the Philippine jungle and that of Vietnam. The bus stopped and turned into a military-controlled area that had guards at the gates. The bus was searched by a Filipino lieutenant and two soldiers and then was allowed to enter. Woods looked over at Sergeant McDonald, who remained sitting at the front of the bus, smoking casually.

  Kirkpatrick leaned over and whispered to Woods, “Do you know what the fuck is going on?”

  Woods shook his head in the negative and shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  The bus pulled up to an open area and stopped. McDonald stood and turned to face the team sitting on the light green seats. “We’re only going to be here for the day. We’ll be flying back tonight. We had planned on having three days here for training, but things are beginning to deteriorate, and we are going to have to move fast or not at all.”

  “They haven’t moved the POWs, have they?” Lieutenant Nappa from CCN asked the question.

  McDonald frowned. “To be honest, we don’t know….”

  “Let’s go!” Woods picked up his gear and started leaving the bus. “Let’s not waste any time.”

  McDonald led the team over to where General Seacourt sat waiting under a thatched open-air cabana. The men lined their gear up along the back of the classroom and took seats on the logs that had been provided for that purpose.

  “I know that we’ve kept you in the dark so far.” Seacourt stood with his hands on his hips and his thumbs hooked around his black leather pistol belt. “So now’s the time to clear up any questions you might have.” He walked over to a large blackboard with buildings drawn on it. “This is an exact replica of a village in Laos called A Rum.” He pointed to the drawings and then stepped back so that the team would have an unrestricted view of the buildings that occupied the clearing behind the general. “And that is an exact mock-up of the village and what we think are POW long-houses….” He pointed.

  Woods was very impressed. They had made an exact, life-sized replica of the POW camp in the Philippines!

  “I am not going to waste any more of your time… it’s precious right now. We’ve cut your training time drastically, and you need to run through the actual assault at least a couple of times before we fly back to Vietnam.” Seacourt looked at
the team leader. “Master Sergeant McDonald… let’s get on with it!”

  The Philippine Army had provided assault and transport Hueys for the training, and the team had practiced their landing and assaults on the mock-up for over six hours straight without taking a break. None of the men wanted to stop until the mission had been executed perfectly. McDonald had even thrown in a couple of examples of the unexpected in the training by moving the POWs from the longhouses to locations in the surrounding jungle. He had missed nothing in the training, and they practiced the assaults and then the different methods of searching for the POWs—first through the buildings in the village and then by cloverleafing around the village from the jungle in two-man teams, with a small force acting as a reserve force. All of them had the new URC-10 hand-held radios that made communicating easy and control superb.

  McDonald called for a break, and the men dropped down near exhaustion under the shade of a banana grove. Woods sipped from his canteen of water and lay back against his rucksack. Everyone had been giving a hundred percent and was feeling good. They were a team and were beginning to sense how one another operated.

  “Woods… don’t forget when you’re going around the edge of a hut to go in low first and then stand up. Any NVA waiting for you will fire about chest high and won’t be expecting you to look around the corner of the building from the ground.”

  Woods nodded.

  “Kirkpatrick… full automatic on your CAR-15… we’re going to need a lot of firepower.”

  Kirkpatrick nodded.

  “Lieutenant Reed… more aggressive—we can’t hold back at all.” McDonald remembered the cutthroats. “If we hesitate for even a minute, they’ll kill the POWs before they’ll let us rescue them… that’s why we can’t hesitate! We leave the choppers running and we don’t stop until we find the POWs!”

  Reed nodded.

  “And… we will not take any prisoners—none. We don’t have time to mess with them.” McDonald didn’t like that part of the mission, but they weren’t equipped to take prisoners and there just wasn’t enough time to tie up even one man.