Tattletale

Smoke from the battle the day before was still hanging in the rifts and shell craters, the air too still to dissipate it. Wisps of water vapor rising from the heated soil mixed with the smoke, turning the horizon line soft like the color of cooking caramel.

A line of infantrymen trudged across the dusty ground, the heat and humidity already staining their clothes dark with perspiration. They had moved across this same area of operations yesterday, receiving serious sniper and machine gun fire from the tree line one hundred yards ahead. Casualties were light, but they were forced to fall back and regroup that night, then hit it again this morning. There wasn’t much cover, so apprehension was high. They all knew the enemy soldiers were still around, probably estimating the exact time to open fire at them again.

The men moved slowly, eyes scanning treetops and ground, left and right. They moved like veterans of previous conflicts, confident but careful, knowing full well the kind of hell that could strike them down in the blink of a muzzle flash. Their eyes were red and squinting in the white light of the day. Lips were dry. Plastic rifle stocks were slick with sweat.

Each man carried his load differently. Weapons were held ready to fire, safeties off. Machine gunners looked back to make sure their assistants were close with extra ammo ready to use. Grenades hung from their packs like lethal apples, green but deadly. Nobody was smoking-too much of a distraction.

The line slowed as we approached yesterday’s ambush area. We used what cover was available; tree trunks, shallow holes, anything that could deflect a bullet. Where there was no cover available, men knelt or flopped on their bellies to scan ahead. The platoon leader pulled out his binoculars. Squinting, he zeroed in on the ground ahead, checking the smoky shadows and dim highlights, looking for his opponent to show his hand: a glint off a rifle barrel, a slight movement in a shadow, any telltale sign of human intrusion in the forest ahead.

Every man’s eyes drilled ahead, waiting. Trigger fingers flicked in and out of the trigger guards in anticipation. They’d rather be moving than presenting fat targets for every rat with a rifle or mortar. Infantrymen were never comfortable in the open. That’s usually when the sh*t starts flying. Ambushes are sprung when a lot of chumps are in the open. When your enemies are professional soldiers, they will inflict casualties. And casualty’s mean wounded men lying in an open field needing medical help. But they have to be brought back into safety first. That means some poor sap will have to drag his ass out there to get them, while his pals are laying down cover fire. All in all, the type of situation nobody likes to see happen.

With his field survey complete, the officer tucked his binoculars away and signaled the platoon to move forward. The men got up slowly, groaning under their load of food, water and ammo. A 30-meter advance brought a hailstorm of sniper fire. The snipers were just waiting for the column to stand up and present choice targets. The officer went down, as did his radioman and one of the machine gunners. High priority targets taken out first, just what they were supposed to do.

I was on the right flank, walking through the uneven ground of a shallow creek bed when the firing started. The heat had lulled me into a semi-transparent fog, the smells of cattle manure and muddy water taking my attention away from the job at hand. The buzzing insects sucking what few juices I had left became low priority when the hostile fire started. I threw myself against the creek bank rim and opened fire. My Daisy Red Ryder was firing as fast as I could cock it and point, the BB’s throwing up little puffs of dust as I snapped shot at cow pies and dirt clods. My cousin Dwight, 10 meters away, was frantically sighting in on a mulberry tree that hosted a sniper in its branches.

I finally got a clean firing position and put a couple fast rounds into the tree. The enemy firing stopped and we gathered under the mulberry tree to relax and rest, the branches providing a treat of fat purple fruit. Ah, living off the land!