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Zorba was glad that he had an early watch behind the .50 caliber MG. It was the type of night most people never get to see back in the states. The moon seemed so much bigger and brighter in Viet Nam, casting its light, shimmering sparkles across the rice paddies. There seemed to be millions and millions of stars twinkling in the heavens. There were no city lights to interfere with stargazing. The evening air was warm with a slight breeze, which kept the insects away. A person couldn’t ask for a more pleasant night, except in the back of Zorba’s mind, he knew that there were men lurking in the dark, nearby jungle that wanted to kill him and the other CAP Marines assigned to Quebec-3. He also knew that there was a very little chance of the compound being attacked this night because it was way too light and visibility was very good. There was no way in Hell anybody could approach the compound without being seen. As Zorba scanned the rice paddies and took in the beauty of the evening, it was hard for him to believe that there was a war going on. His friend, Spanky always reminded him to “try to imagine what this place would be like if there was peace”. On this night Zorba understood what he meant. It was truly a beautiful country. He pulled his poncho liner over his head and lit a cigarette, then laid the liner by his side for use whenever he wanted a smoke. He cupped his hands around the amber to hide the light from potential enemy snipers, who could be observing him from the treeline about five hundred yards to his front. His attention was on that treeline as he slowly stroked the barrel of the .50 caliber machine gun.
Zorba heard footsteps approaching his bunker from behind him. By the sounds of them he knew it had to be Spanky, his fire team leader. He was suddenly reminded of how heightened his senses had become since he first arrived in Viet Nam. The Marines shared some of the trade secrets of how to survive the war. One was to be aware of the noises around you at night, to train yourself to listen for anything out of the ordinary. An animal would not cause a metallic clicking sound for example, and the sound of untied Marine issue jungle boots scuffling along the dirt was unmistakable. He knew it was his friend because he picked up the muffled sound of someone softly whistling the Marine Hymn. The thought of the young Marine approaching his bunker brought a smile to Zorba’s face. Spanky belonged back home in a Boy Scout troop instead of being in a unit like CAP Q-3 where every Marine had at least one Purple Heart... |
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