Daylight filtered through the trees and partially lit up the forest. George awoke and lay still. His head hurt and dried blood ran from a cut on his temple to his jaw. He could not remember what had happened. He knew his name was George and the last thing he remembered was that he was running from the Viet Cong when there was a bright flash.

His M-16 lay nearby and his bush hat a few feet from that. His jungle fatigues were dirty and damp; his jungle boots were muddy. He could smell what was left from the rain. His canteen was full but he had no food. He wore a web belt holding the canteen, a .45 caliber pistol and a survival knife. He had no grenades. His fatigue pockets held 6 clips of ammo. There was no nametag on his fatigues nor was there any rank insignia. He remembered that he was a member of the Special Forces attached to a SOG team. Other than that his mind was a blank. He knew that it was morning and it was 1968. The Nam had turned to hell with the TET offensive a month ago.

He was not sure what time it was because his watch had been shattered. Realizing he was on a well-worn trail, he decided that he had best move, otherwise the enemy might find him. He reached for his weapon and a terrific pain in his head told him that he had a bad day coming.

He did not know where the rest of his boonie rat buddies were or how long he had been here. The rest might have escaped or they might be dead. He would assume they were dead and act accordingly. He had to get back to his base as soon as possible. He put on his hat gingerly and picked up his weapon slowly. He then carefully moved into the jungle and off the trail.

He could hear the sounds of a stream and followed the sound, ever alert for the enemy. Coming to the stream, he washed his face to remove the dried blood. He suddenly heard voices coming down the stream. Quickly returning to the jungle, he ran quietly and quickly the way he had come. He recognized the language but he could not understand it as they were too far away.

As the sun rose higher into the sky, George decided that he had to move east to the coast or at least to highway 1, which ran from Danang south to Saigon. He started noticing that this jungle looked different. It was familiar but different. He swore he never saw this type of jungle in the Nam before, but then he had not been to the rubber plantations either. He decided that he just had not been here before.

The further he walked the more he realized he must be in the highlands as the terrain kept rising. This is good, he thought for at some point he would be able to get a better view of the landscape.

He had walked for several hours and had not encountered anyone. The only sounds he heard were his own footsteps and occasionally some birds. It had started to get dark and George began to look for a place to rest. He looked to the trees and decided that one tree some 100 feet tall would be his best bet. Then he discovered that the rope he always carried around his waist was missing. He did not remember using it before. Hitching himself to a height of 40 feet, he nestled himself into the branches the best he could. He had climbed the tree without scratching the bark of the tree since he had removed his boots first.

He slept quietly all night and woke just before sunrise. His stomach was empty and growling. He stayed in the tree until the sun told him it was about 9 o'clock. Suddenly he saw movement. Four men in green pants and tan shirts could be seen some six hundred yards away. They wore what looked to be old campaign hats or what was commonly referred to as Smokey the bear hats. At that distance it was hard to tell. They did not appear to be carrying any weapons. Since they were not coming toward him, George froze.

George stayed where he was for an hour before he left the tree and started out again. A while later he came out of the jungle and on to a stretch of road. It was blacktop and although in pretty good condition, he quickly crossed it and went back into the jungle on the other side. He continued walking until he came to a clearing. It was unoccupied but someone was near. He could see where a campfire had been built and there were several bedrolls near a tree. There were also several rifles leaning up against a tree. He waited a half an hour but saw no one. He then noticed a package tied to a rope hanging from another tree. The rope was tied to the base of a tree. Making sure no one was around, George untied the rope and let the package fall. George ran, picked up the package and ran back into the jungle. An hour later he stopped to rest.

As George opened the package, he realized everything was in sealed packages and all the writing was in English. The VC must have stolen some thing from a warehouse or B.X. There were even candy bars, which George proceeded to devour two of them. Using the rope, he fashioned a makeshift pack and moved out again as he heard some rifle fire coming from the direction of the camp. Suddenly he heard a whimper under a bush. He discovered a little girl about five years old. She was filthy and her long black hair was tangled with brush and leaves. She was oriental but did not look Vietnamese.

George gave her a candy bar and some water. He motioned for her to be quiet. He could not leave her here alone, so he picked her up and started walking again. She clung to him with all her might. Toward nightfall, George found a small sheltered cave. He made sure it was clear then he entered and made a small fire so he could prepare a meal. The packages were real strange. They all needed water added, but he did not have enough to spare. But there was a small ham. Slicing it up George proceeded to cook it over the fire using some stake he cut from a tree. It took him back to his scouting days but he could not remember being a scout. The girl ate and then fell asleep. She never uttered a sound although she made hand signs, which George could not understand.

George pondered his new charge. He had to get her to her people but by doing so he risked being captured. He decided that he had to take the chance. He would follow the next trail until it came to a village and leave her there.

The next morning the two came to a dirt trail and followed it in the direction George felt was south. They traveled some two hours before George spotted a structure. It appeared to be a wooden guard post. There were no sentries visible and there were no sandbags. Rather unusual, thought George. He approached cautiously with the little girl in tow. He suddenly felt very tired and his head started to hurt again. He felt his temple and it was bleeding again. He stumbled to the guard post and fell, losing consciousness.

He awoke to being shaken. "Hey, wake up" a male voice in English said. "Get some water," said a woman's voice also in English. George opened his eyes to see a lovely young woman wearing green pants and a tan shirt and a Smokey the bear hat. "Is your name George?" George nodded. "We have been looking for you for a week. We were also looking for this little girl for 4 days." George said nothing as he was trying to focus his eyes better.

The young woman continued. "You have been missing from a hunting trip. You disappeared during a sudden storm about 30 miles from here. The little girl wandered away from her family camp site about 20 miles the opposite direction. She is a mute so she can not speak." George shook his head clearing away the cobwebs in his brain. He saw a sign over the shoulder of the young woman. It said, "welcome to Yosemite national forest". Just then the little girl walked over to George and hugged him "will you take me to my daddy now" she said.

END

©George - James Guy - March 2001

Feedback makes the author's day - James L.Guy