by Barry Sadler
The Kamserai and their chieftain's foreign guests moved as swiftly as the terrain would allow, sometimes slowing to a crawl, making only a hundred yards an hour or less. Then it was time to rest. The gray light of the coming day was now bright enough to see one's hand before one's face quite clearly. He figured they'd better hole up and rest.
Casey, his men, and the Kamserai tribesmen blended into the underbrush, wrapping the jungle about themselves, invisible at a distance of less than three feet. They slept; all but the sentries. Their eyes never left the trail they'd just moved away from. They would sleep later. Now they would watch while the others pulled into their own special places in their minds and slept the sleep of the hunter and the hunted. Never fully asleep but never fully awake. A wrong sound or an abundance of silence would bring them to instant alert: no evidence of drowsiness, no rubbing of the eyes, immediate awareness, hands on weapons ready to kill if need be. These were the Kamserai, the hunters of men.
Some distance away from where the men in the jungle slept, another was disturbed from a most pleasant rest by the pounding at his longhouse door.
Poi Nar Lon, political leader for this district, swore beneath his breath as he rose and opened the bamboo door. A soldier of the Khmer Rouge stood outside at attention, his eyes downcast, waiting to be spoken to.
"What is it? Why have you wakened me?" Poi Nar Lon grumbled, instantly regretting the showing of emotions to an inferior.
The soldier swallowed, speaking rapidly in a voice that cracked from the dry taste of fear at being in the presence of the Colonel Lon. He informed him that the message in his hand had just arrived.
"Well, don't stand there holding it, fool. If it's for me, why is it not already in my hand?" Poi Nar Lon, colonel in the army of the Khmer, political and security chief of the district, was not noted for his leniency or tolerance. Deviation of any kind held only one reward, and that was best not thought of.
The frightened soldier handed his superior the written message just received on their radio from Phnom Penh and after a severe scolding by the colonel was dismissed. He was relieved that the potbellied officer had not asked his name.
Cursing all the peasants and underlings in the world, Colonel Lon slammed the door and moved to his desk. Ever since the central committee had assigned him as commander of this Buddha forsaken post, he'd been tormented by the presence of small people.
He searched the desk area for his glasses. He was forever misplacing them. Perching them on his nose, he scanned the message before him, noting the seal of his commanding general. It had been a long while since he'd received anything of real importance from the esteemed general.
District Seven:
Office for Intelligence and Operations
1600 hrs. yesterday this station received information that an air drop was to be made in the region of Sien Dap village. Our informant states that this element consists of dissident Kamserai bandits and is led by an American agent for the CIA.
Subsequent information confirms that last night an unidentified aircraft was sighted in the vicinity of Sien Dap. Our records show that no authorized flights of any nature were made in your district last night. You will make every effort to ascertain whether there are hostile forces in your district. If so, they are to be taken, alive if possible, as their capture could prove of great value to our Ministry of Information.
Signed
General Surya Varman
Intelligence and Operations
for the Khmer Republic
Lon put the message down, looking at it long and hard for a moment. He smiled. This could be the break he needed. Success in this mission could bring his name to the attention of the Central Committee in the capital. If it was true that the foreigners were in his region, it would most likely give him national prominence to capture them.
He summoned his orderly and dictated a message to the general that he would take personal charge of the search and capture mission departing to the Sien Dap area immediately. With a wave of dismissal, he ordered curtly, "Go now to the radio shack and get it off to the general. On your way, tell Lieutenant Wen to rouse a company of our top soldiers for the patrol and rations enough for seven days, and also have my morning meal sent in. Go now, fool."
After his breakfast, Colonel Lon issued orders to his adjutant to be on the alert for anything out of the ordinary and communicate the same to him in the field. The patrol would check back with the adjutant twice daily at 0700 and 1700 hours.
He went outside to where his troops were now assembled, waiting for his orders. The colonel could not resist a small pre-mission speech to enhance his own image; perhaps it would also inspire his troops.
"Men of the victorious forces of liberation, the battle we waged against the capitalist army of America and her lackeys is not over yet. We are still not secure in our beloved homeland. I have this day received word that enemies of the state, led by an American no less, have possibly parachuted onto our land near Sien Dap. You can be sure that they mean us nothing but harm, so be ever on the alert while on this patrol. The man who first finds sign of their presence will be immediately promoted two grades. Be on the watch, comrades. Rest assured that they are armed and to be considered dangerous. I want these criminals taken alive if at all possible. Do not kill unless you are ordered to do so. You men are the bearers of the standard of the new order. Conduct yourselves as such, with courage and loyalty. Now, board your trucks!"
The men gave him one short rousing cheer and raced as one to their American made deuce and a half trucks, remnants of the victory over the capitalists. The colonel went to the lead vehicle and climbed up beside the driver.
Someday, he thought, I shall have my own car, for me alone, and not have to ride in a damned truck like a fool peasant. He motioned for the driver to start his engine, and the column moved out toward the village of Sien Dap, thirty five miles to their north, where the Annamite Range melded with the low country.
The chase was on.
CHAPTER NINE
Casey and the men woke up. They ate a meal of cold rice balls and nuoc mam, a sauce made from the bodies of fish. They stretched, scratched themselves, and relieved their bladders all the things that civilized men do when waking. Then they moved out, heading for a mountain ridge overlooking a large lake some forty miles distant. If things went well, they would reach their destination the next day.
The combat patrol flankers were out, point man well in front, all weapons held in readiness and pointed to the side of the column. Casey had his first chance now to size up the men Phang had brought with him.
They were tough looking men, all right. Wiry muscles like sinew twisted all over their bodies as if there were something alive under their skin, trying to escape. He had known that Phang would bring the best, and these certainly looked the part. They wore old American combat camouflage fatigues, uniforms that had probably been hidden and retrieved after the fall of the Saigon government. They carried a mixed bag of weapons: M-2 carbines, M-3 45 caliber submachine guns, and Chi Corn AK47s. Two of the men were carrying SKSs, and all fifteen men accompanying Phang wore the ever present homemade machetes and knives. A rugged crew of men for sure, a team that would give you nightmares if you were on the wrong end of their act.
Casey turned to Phang. "These men will do, old friend. You've done well."
Phang nodded, looking around in admiration of his troops. Van moved up beside Casey, reminding him to take a salt tablet; the heat of the day was starting to show itself. Casey asked where George was, and Van pointed to the outside flank. Casey could barely see the Montagnard's shadow, moving wraithlike through the trees and underbrush of the jungle. Members of the Montagnard company where he'd first met George used to call the little man "one who moves like a ghost," and they were not far from wrong. The wiry little bastard was a natural at this line of work and had taught Van and himself to be almost as good. They would never be his equal in the jungle, though. They'd started learning twenty years too late.
Finally, it was over. They shoved the bodies into the pit and covered it over. The corpses alone had almost filled the hole. The troops had packed down the dirt and hurriedly left the area, avoiding each other's eyes.
Today, as the soldiers of the new order rode by the pit area, they didn't notice that the wind and rain had partially uncovered several of their countrymen buried there. The small tiny skeleton of a child's hand poked above the dirt like a fragile white crab, waiting. They had not seen it, and time would one day cover it again. The earth claims all sooner or later.
The villagers knew well how to respond to the colonel's questions. The lesson taught here had not been forgotten. Flowers and food were brought immediately for his men while Lon interrogated the surviving village elders. Had they seen anything? Any aircraft or strangers? What?
The elders nodded. Their young people had heard noises some time before dawn. One couple had left for the fields in the mountains, when they'd seen the glow of lights in the distance and had heard the sound of an engine in the air. They had returned now, just minutes before this great soldier and his men had arrived in the village. They had intended to send word of this event to him immediately, but the wise and honorable colonel had come before they could dispatch a messenger with the news.
Lon looked at the old ones with distaste, noticing their straggly white beards and lice ridden clothing. They laid their clothing atop a red anthill every few days, he'd been told, and the ants would come to carry off the lice for their food. Buddha had not been kind to these people.
He ordered the young couple to be brought to him. A farmer of about twenty and his bride, a girl of perhaps fourteen, came and knelt before him. He enjoyed the feel of these people bowing before him: peasants in respect to their betters. Perhaps the old kings had known something about ruling. Enough of these thoughts, he reminded himself mentally. To work. Looking down at the girl's bared nubile breasts, he told the two to rise. The girl, noticing where his eyes lay, smiled timidly to herself. Perhaps these men in uniform were not so different from others. If she pleased him, he might be kind to them. Best, she knew, to let him look at her femininity and smile for him.
The colonel threw question after question at the pair, but nothing changed their story. They had nothing more to add to the fact that all they'd seen were lights that had been quickly extinguished and a glimpse of the plane before it had been lost in the clouds. There was no mistake; it was clear. Bringing out his map case, he opened to the chart showing their area and pointed out the location of the village to the young farmer.
"Show me where this field is!"
Colonel Lon gave him landmarks to draw references from. While the young man looked at the map, trying his best to understand the strange marks and their significance, the officer looked at his wife.
Finally, the husband pointed to a spot on the chart and indicated the location of the field to Lon's adjutant. His wife didn't notice that the young man had turned to look at the colonel's area of fixation. She was too busy handling her own emotions now. As the colonel's eyes fixed on her own, she felt a thrill go through her. Her nipples hardened, coloring a brighter pink, and protruded out at his gaze. A strange hot flash came over her, one she'd never felt before. Was it because this man was a chief, one who could have a person killed with a mere word? His strength and power of command drew her like the primitive she was the urge to migrate to the dominant of the species. She felt her womanhood now more than ever.
The young man raised his eyes from Lon, moving to his wife, recognizing the look in her eyes as one of acceptance. His youth and pride betrayed his good sense. In anger, he struck his woman to the ground and turned to the officer.
"She is my woman," he blurted. "Tend to your soldiers and leave what is mine to me."
The colonel sighed, nodding his head to the bodyguard standing slightly to the rear of the angry youth. The guard raised his rifle and quickly struck the base of the man's skull. It made a sound not unlike that of a large eggshell breaking.
The guard apologized. "I didn't mean to hit him that hard, my colonel, but as you can see, his skull is very thin. A strong man's head would not have broken so easily."
Lon waved his explanation away.
"It is of no matter. We will leave shortly. Have the villagers feed our men, and do not disturb me until I summon you. Go!"
With that, Lon took the girl's hand and raised her from the ground. Without a word, she followed him to the longhouse of the village chief. As they approached, he ordered everyone out. As the frightened family hurriedly vacated their home, the colonel and his new woman entered without looking back. He knew she would be behind him. The laws of nature ran shallow in the forest, needing only to be teased a little to come to the surface. This was one of the basic laws of nature to mate with the strong. As a female animal of the species, she went to the colonel. As a female, she gave herself willingly over and over, her husband already fading in her young mind.
Pal Lon finished with her, rose, and dressed, leaving her lying on the woven mats and blanket. Not looking back, he ordered his men to board the trucks. He left, leaving her to whatever comfort or pain the baby he had planted in her belly would give her; he was no longer concerned.
The trucks made their way along the dirt roads, throwing up clouds of red dust that settled on everything and found its way inside to coat their noses and throats till they had to take rags and scarves and tie them around their faces.
Heads bobbing, many of them slept as all soldiers can, no matter what they are doing. A bouncing truck was no problem. They dozed, occasionally jerking their heads up sharply as if they had a dream of falling.
The clearing they were heading for was only ten kilometers across country from the village, but if they stayed on the road another forty kilometers, they would come within two clicks of the clearing and arrive there as quickly as if they had walked from the village. But this way they would be more rested.
Lurching, the lead truck came to a stop, almost making Colonel Lon smash into the windshield. The driver hurriedly began making excuses about how he had to stop suddenly to avoid a large hole. Colonel Lon did not, as the man expected, punish him. Lon was in an expansive mood. He had been dozing pleasantly, comfortable after his excursion in the village of Sien Dap. She was inexperienced but enthusiastic and eager to please; that compensated a great deal for her lack of expertise. He hoped the next man who claimed her would be properly grateful for the training he had given her in the arts.
Yes, she was pleasant. Perhaps another time.
He motioned the truck on and slid back into his light semi-sleep, letting himself reflect upon the many women he had known, the differences between them, from the sophisticated ladies of the city to village peasant girls like that one. They were all different yet the same. Laughing silently, he thought about the western woman, the Swiss sister he had t
aken when the Khmer Rouge took over the country. She was a missionary for some Christian church, another of those fanatics who felt some strange need to sacrifice themselves for a people they had no business interfering with. It seemed that the more of them that were killed, the more would show up beating on their ever present Bibles, threatening you with the most vile punishments if you did not fall down and worship their pale Jewish god, as if there were not enough gods in this land already.
The party would be taking care of that situation. Religion sapped the strength of the people and needed to be controlled, as he had controlled the missionary. She had waved her silly book at him, saying that her god would punish him for this violation of her body. Even as she kept threatening, her body would move with him till finally her legs, and she had good ones, locked around his waist till he thought she was going to break his spine, and she began to buck and scream till she climaxed. Lon laughed at how her body had betrayed her. After he turned her over to his men, she lived through enough orgies to guarantee her a place either in hell or in heaven, depending on how much she enjoyed what was happening to her. But conscience is a terrible thing, and she'd hanged herself the third night. Lon often wondered why she waited so long to do it.
The capital. That was where to be. That was where the beautiful ladies were. If all went well, he would be able to get out of this pest-ridden jungle. After all, he had come from a good family and was used to the finer things. He had been one of Sihanouk's bright young men till the American CIA had him overthrown and that dog, Lon Nol, took over. Pol Lon had to leave everything behind and join Sihanouk in China. While there, he had attended many of their schools, military training, psychological indoctrination courses, studies on population control and discipline. Most important to his Chinese instructors was a proper attitude. Loyalty and the ability to quote copious amounts of the never ending wisdom of Chairman Mao were more important than intelligence. Lon quickly learned this and adjusted himself accordingly. Learning to spout Mao by the ream and always looking pious when his name was mentioned this assured Lon of high placing when his instructors graded. He played his part even if it did bore him, but what was he to do? After all, he had no place to go and no money to go there with. Obviously, he had to align himself with the new forces that were coming into play in his country, and when the Khmer Rouge came to China looking for trained men, the Chinese instructors rated Pol Lon so highly that he was made a major immediately upon enlisting.
