The Writers' Corner ~ The Six Of Diamonds

As I was going through the old trunk, I found the battered deck of cards. I riffled the deck in my hands unconsciously, and noticed the flash of green. I pulled the green card from the deck and saw the big diamond drawn on the middle of it with ballpoint pen. A six was penned in each corner of the deck. For an instant, I wasn’t there. A flashback!

We were huddled in the foxhole, on perimeter guard at the top of a rise. Before us was the variegated green of the almost impenetrable jungle. The welcome sound of bird cries filled the air. That was our alarm system. We were having no VC visitors, while the birds were in singing mode. Henderson pulled the deck of cards from his pocket. He and Billings divided the deck and began to play war. That might seem ironic, considering where we were. It was a way to pass the time in the wilds of Vietnam.

I manned the 50-caliber machine gun, eyes constantly scanning the green wall all around us. It was automatic reflex by this time, even if the birds stood sentry duty, too. The humid heat was bearing down on us, and it was difficult to remain alert. We each took one-hour stints on the gun, but all of our senses were tuned in to the varied jungle sounds, as long as we were awake.

Suddenly, the birds stopped singing. Fluttering sounds could be heard amongst the foliage, as many of them took to the sky. Several parakeet-like creatures flew over our position. At once, we all moved to the wall of the foxhole, fully alert. Six eyes roved the tree line. Nothing to be seen. We remained tense, listening and watching for almost an hour. Then Billings picked up his cards again and urged Henderson back into the game. I complained that it was Billing's turn on the gun. We shifted positions and he passed me the cards. As he did so, a mortar round landed directly in front of us, and the cards flew from my hand as I scrambled to dig in.

Shrapnel rained down around us. Billings caught a big chunk on his helmet, and was thrown back into the hole. I pulled him to me, and saw that he was only dazed. A dent ran along the left side of the steel pot. I reflected briefly on how lucky he was to be wearing it. We often didn’t, considering the heat. Henderson shifted to the gun, tracking the jungle edge. Another mortar round came in a few hundred yards away. Then we heard occasional incoming sniper fire, but no rounds aimed in our direction.

Tense hours passed, until birds began once again to call to each other. Billings picked up the muddied cards. He held the six of diamonds up to show us where another piece of shrapnel had come close, tearing the card almost in two. Or maybe it was the same shard of metal that had impacted his helmet. Somehow, I ended up with that deck of cards, probably because it was my medical shot record that was made into the six of diamonds.