None Came Home

Catching their breath, no words are spoken. Their eyes look everywhere, not missing a thing as they hide from everyone. No friends or allies. They are alone, up-front where the action is. Well accustomed to it by now, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

The trio’s eyes strain to see the American helicopter taking off from the roof of a distant building. "The Embassy, we go this way," commands the first soldier. Instantaneously, they rise and, on the run, head for the smoke-blanketed noise of heavy mortar and gunfire.

Slipping around alleys and running through streets of fire and mayhem, they finally reach the outskirts of the city and scramble through a mortar-shell hole in a wire perimeter fence. Ten minutes later, having temporarily breached the mayhem and found refuge in the middle of a pasture, the men sense a certain stillness among the desolate fields, scarred by remnants of partially destroyed buildings.

They know their destination well. As the soldiers cross the familiar concrete, they recognize their location--the landing tarmac of an airbase. To their left and up the ridge they spot what they came for. "Hasn’t changed much," one mumbles. The others agree.

Racing up a small incline on a winding, muddy road the men clear away branches and brush felled by the day’s fighting. Cautiously, they approach an old wooden field shed. "Many a good beer and laugh was shared in there, but now, that seems like another lifetime."

Empty stalls and sandy pits stretch the length of the shack and a few empty collars with worn leashes line the walls amidst empty or half-filled water buckets--nothing but memories and ghosts from the not-too-distant past. "All deserted and yet, I can still hear them." A cold dark wind carries the ever-approaching night with smoke and the din of distant carnage.

Dropping their sacks, they search the rest of the area for anybody or thing that may cause trouble or alarm, but a slow grin creases their faces as they approach the old deuce 1/2; a huge dusty behemoth of a truck made to go where no human being should want to. The colossal rhino, caked in mud and grease, would emerge from the jungles, determined to crash and break down any obstruction in its path. This dependable, now discarded relic was the testimony of a historic legacy--what was once Vietnam. "She was always a good truck. It’s good to have her back again."

Suddenly, all three freeze like statues as the first signs of emotion escape their trembling bodies. "There’s the three crates! Oh, God!"

"Is that them?"

"It has to be. We can’t stay much longer." They open the first one slowly, peek inside, smile, then nail it shut.

"Getting dark, it’s about that time. Let’s move!"

With a gentle reverence, the three boxes are securely tied on the flatbed truck. Diligently, the men check the cargo ropes, which are fastened onto a loading plank, and secure the lifts to hold the precious freight in place. "Take it easy with that top box. That one’s mine." They all smile.