by Barry Sadler
His only weapon was his pistol, and that he kept in his hand, the hammer cocked and ready to fire. One step at a time he moved, afraid to go too fast because of the noise it would make and the creatures it might attract. Every shadow was a terror. Every jumping fish made his heart leap into his throat and nearly choke him.
At last he could no longer restrain himself. The shadows were growing too long and the dark was going to be coming very soon to the swamp. He moved faster, more confident that he had a chance to get out alive. If he did, he would go so deep in the jungles that no one would ever hear from him again. He'd had enough of everything. His confidence was broken and the ideologies that he'd believed in and had been ready to die for no longer seemed of any importance. They were only shallow things that had served to give him the feeling of a mission in life, something to live for. Now he had another mission, and that was simply to live.
Through a break in the trees he saw a rise in the land, a hill that was not part of the marsh. Tears of relief came to his eyes. He sobbed with joy! He was going to make it! He was going to be all right. He had survived. Any thought or concern for the nearly two hundred men who had died in the marsh for him never entered his mind. He was going to live; that was all that was important. He was going to get away. Splashing his way now, he tore at the swamp, forcing his legs to go as fast as they could through the sucking mud. He ignored the whipping lashes of branches and vines that cut his face and tore his uniform. The pain was nothing. He was going to live!
Ho reached the first patch of solid ground. Beyond it he could see there was no more water. He was out! He fell to the earth, grateful, sucking in great gasps of breath to feed his oxygen starved system. Every muscle and nerve in his body trembled with relief and exhaustion. Sobbing, he gave thanks to the spirits of his fathers for his salvation.
A shadow fell over him. A sudden chill started deep in the pit of his stomach. He raised his face from the safe, good earth.
Casey stood on a small rise, the sun behind him. He watched Ho as he struggled to his feet on weak, shaking legs.
Eyes wide with shock, Ho pointed his finger at Casey. His words came out thin and ragged. "Qui than! Demon!" Casey stood silent. Only his eyes moved as he watched Ho. He knew the man was on the razor's edge of madness, needing only a small push to send him over.
Ho began to raise his pistol. The Tokarev felt as though it had weights tied to it. His arm barely had the strength to get the pistol up to shoulder level. His arm and hand trembled with the strain. Tears came to his eyes as he cried out again, "Qui than!"
Casey thought that perhaps Ho was closer to the truth than even he knew. If there were demons to be found on the face of the earth, surely he had to qualify as being one.
The Tokarev pointed in his direction and still he didn't move. Ho's entire body was shaking as he mustered the strength to pull the trigger. The bullet passed over three feet away from its target. Ho groaned and fired again. The shaking of his body was so bad that he couldn't have hit a tank at ten feet. "Die!" he screamed. "Why don't you die and leave me alone?"
Casey shook his head almost sadly as he answered. "I would die if I could." Ho didn't hear him. He tried to fire again but the magazine was empty. He dropped the weapon. Madness was on him, riding his soul like a dark wind.
He choked out, "I know that you have come to steal my soul. But you can't have it. I won't let you." Tears streaming from his eyes, he turned blindly and ran back into the marsh, laughing insanely, repeating over and over to the wind and sky, "You can't have me...."
Casey didn't follow. When he saw that Ho was mad, he knew the chase was over. He no longer wanted to kill him. Something much worse had already taken his prey from him.
Ho stumbled, crawled, and beat his way back into the darkening marsh. His eyes sightless, he saw nothing. He ran till the heavy shadows of night sat on the waters. The very fabric of his mind had ripped. He didn't even see the golden eyes directly in front of him, or the gaping maw that rushed to meet him. Only when the jaws closed on his leg to drag him under did he scream, and then it was because he thought the demon had taken him. He tried to scream again, but it was stopped when pointed teeth severed his head from his body.
Casey heard the death cry and shuddered. He knew what had happened and how Ho had died. "The fool should have let me kill him. It would have been much better...."
There was nothing left for him here; he could go back now.
Phang wondered how his friend had fared in his quest. That he would return was never Phang's doubt. Still, he and Van, who had begun by now to return to the real world, stayed awake all that long night and waited. It was only when the cooking fires of the morning were lit and rice was being prepared that a hail from one of the Kamserai sentries brought them to their feet. Casey was back. Van and Phang rushed to meet their friend. From the expression in the gray-blue eyes both men knew the long hunt was over.
Casey said nothing, only nodded his greetings and went to a grassy spot under a tree and lay down. Taking one deep breath he closed his eyes and went to sleep. He was very, very tired.
Phang squatted on his haunches to wait till Casey awoke, then he would have the last of the story. When Casey lay down to rest so did Van. Both men needed the healing powers of sleep.
It was the next morning before Casey stirred from his deep slumber. He told Phang and Van of Ho's death and the Kamserai touched his hag of charms. "My friend, it is time for you to leave and go back to your own kind."
Casey smiled grimly and thought, my own kind? There is none that I can call my own kind.
The column formed up and they moved out. Phang would provide an escort for him and Van back to South Vietnam.
For the next three days they moved steadily on, re-crossing the same fields and rivers until they reached the flat rice lands of the upper delta, near Ha Tien. That night they rested only a few miles from an American outpost. They would wait till full light before going in. That way there would be little chance that they'd be mistaken for Vietcong.
When they neared the outskirts of Ha Tien they encountered a small fortified guard post where fifty ARVIN and a dozen American soldiers guarded the western approach to the city. At a distance of seven hundred meters from the main gate, Phang said his farewells. He had no need to go any further and two men would not be as likely to excite a trigger happy soldier as would his band which, from a distance looked much the same as any other band of guerrillas or bandits.
He held Casey's arm and squeezed. "Live long and well, my friend. If ever you have need of me you have but to call and I will answer. As long as there is life in my body and strength in my limbs I will come. Live long! Live well!" To Van there was little that could be said. They merely smiled at each other and that was the end of it. There was no need for words.
Casey returned the squeeze and hugged the old barbarian around the shoulders before turning his back. With Van at his side, he walked toward the outpost. Phang and his men faded away, back into high grass. They turned back to their homelands in Cambodia, where their wives and children awaited their return.
A sentry on the main gate called out to the sergeant of the guard. "Hey, Sarge, there's someone coming in. There's two of them. One of them looks like a GI. He's too damned big to be a gook.”
SFC Lansing climbed on top of the sandbagged wall and looked out. "You're right, it is an American. Take a couple of men and go out and bring him in. But watch the Viet with him. It might be a trap of some kind."
The sentry took two PFCs with him, opened the main gate under the protective sights of an M-60 light machine gun, and went out. They were about four hundred meters from the main gate when they met.
Casey raised a hand in greeting as the corporal began to question him about what the hell he was doing out in the boondocks with just a single Viet for company. The questioning was abruptly stopped when the corporal disappeared in an exploding cloud. Casey felt a hammer blow hit his head and then darkness took him. He wasn't aware of the r
est of the half dozen 81 mm mortar rounds that came in around them. A Vietcong mortar crew had snuck in close during the night and was laying down a few rounds of harassing fire. After they got off their six rounds they grabbed their tube and ran for it. Unfortunately, they ran right into Phang, who was pleased to acquire such a valuable addition to his armory.
The two surviving privates covered Van as he somehow hoisted the larger man onto his shoulders and hauled Casey across the field into the gates of the outpost. The two privates decided quickly that there wasn't any sense in trying to bring in the corporal. There wasn't enough of him left to make an armful. Besides which they hadn't liked him very much anyway.
Van stayed with Casey as a medic checked him over. The medic had seen many wounds before but was amazed that the guy with the scar was still alive, even though part of his skull was blown open.
Casey had not yet awakened when the dust-off chopper came in for him. Van had to remain behind as the chopper took his friend away. The dust-off had a full load of other wounded aboard and there just wasn't room for him. He waved his farewell to the chopper as it disappeared.
Instead of taking their brain-injured casualty to Saigon, the chopper pilot put the machine balls to the wall and headed for Nha Trang. The other wounded were not in serious shape so the scar-faced man had first priority. The outpost medic had radioed the hospital at Ton son Nhut and had been told that the best neurosurgeon in Nam was in Nha Trang right now, and that was where they were to deliver their casualty. To the 8th Field Hospital at Nha Trang...
EPILOGUE
Well, my dear Landries, that is how Casey Romain came to us at the 8th Field Hospital. The rest you know as well as I. If your memory is rusty on any of the fine points, I refer you to your copy of Casca: The Eternal Mercenary.
Till next time, Julius Goldman, M.D.
Continuing Casca’s adventures, book 15 The Pirate
Jolted from a Caribbean paradise, Casca joins ranks with the infamous Blackbeard. His objective: rescue the beautiful, mysterious Michelle LeBeau from a man who wants to use her to build a Pirate Empire. Leading a pack of marooned cutthroats and aided by the tough-talking, hard-loving Katie
Parnell, Casca just may have a chance. But first the Eternal Mercenary must survive the sadistic tortures of the mutinous pirate crew.
For more information on the entire Casca series see www.casca.net
The Barry Sadler website www.barrysadler.com