Red Snow. Sean Ryan Stuart
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cats living up a tree in a hole in Vietnam. Anyway, he was so damn tired and hungry he didn’t really care if he shared a hole with a cat or not. Jeremy packed all of his belongings at the front of the hole and covered them with nearby bushes. He promptly fell into a long and almost comatose sleep. He had been so tired that he had forgotten to eat and drink. His restless sleep had eventually been interrupted by a loud and gnawing rumble coming from his stomach. Jeremy opened his eyes and quickly tried to raise himself. Forgetting where he was, he hit his forehead hard enough on the ceiling to draw blood.
“Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” He exclaimed, blood streaming from his face.
A loud, piercing, blood-curdling scream came from the back of the cave, and Jeremy froze in fear. He had no idea what type of animal or thing had suddenly screamed, but it sounded very close and annoyed. He suddenly noticed a large pool of warm and wet liquid oozing from his crotch. He had pissed on himself! Oh, great, he thought, I have to take control of the situation, now! Another, equally frightening scream, pierced the evening calm. Jeremy slowly regained his composure and realized that whatever was in the cave with him couldn’t be very big. Just then, a blinding pain reminded him that this creature could be small in stature, but extremely vicious. Jeremy’s anguished yell was as loud and startling as the creature’s. Enough is enough, Jeremy thought, I have to kill whatever that thing is, now!
Grant rolled over on his side, grabbed the old machete, and tried to slash at the darkness beyond his feet. His pathetic attempts only angered the animal and it continued to bite and scratch his foot. The animal screamed hysterically and only appeared to be getting angrier. Jeremy finally managed to drag his leg outside the small hole and turn around head first. He grabbed the machete in the right hand and slowly crawled back in the hole; his right arm making a ninety-degree sweep as he moved forward. The animal suddenly grew quiet, and Jeremy was petrified it would make a mad dash for freedom. Just then, he could feel the machete strike something fleshy and bony. The machete had struck something and was now imbedded in the animal. Jeremy yanked with all his might and managed to pull the weapon free. An audible hiss was heard and the unmistakable smell of blood was present. Jeremy knew that he had killed his adversary, but was still too scared to reach in the darkness and pull out the corpse. Oh, well, he thought, I’ll just wait until daylight. The rest of the night was spent in a semi-conscious state, not trusting himself to fall asleep completely.
The noise of someone walking on the trail had him instantly alert and ready for action. He slowly raised his AK-47 and pointed it down the trail, instantly forgetting about the dead animal in the cave. Jeremy spotted what appeared to be a squad of Vietcong heavily burdened with weapons, mortars, supplies, etc. They did not appear to be looking for him, but in fact were part of a supply column marching through the area. He quickly realized that his cave was in the middle of a major Vietcong re-supply route and he would have to move when it got dark. His thoughts once again turned to the un-welcomed visitor at the end of the cave. He carefully turned around, making sure not to expose any parts of his body, and reached down toward the back of cave. After a few tentative sweeps of the hand, his right index finger felt a soft and furry animal. He gingerly grasped what fur was available and pulled it forward. The animal had already begun to stiffen and smell. After what seemed like an hour, he managed to drag the carcass past the rest of his body, he discovered that his vicious enemy had been a small monkey. However, this small monkey had created more fear and horror than anything the now departed Major Dong ever did. One good thing the dead monkey had done was to add a substantial amount of red meat to Jeremy’s diet for the next two days.
Grant continued to wander around the jungle for seven days, day and night blending into a green hell of musty smells, foul water and strange and eerie noises. CPT Grant had completely lost all track of time and motion. His water and food long since exhausted, he continued going southeast. Although he had never used any drugs, he perceived his current dilemma as bad as a bad LSD trip.
Jeremy had almost given up all hope when he heard the sweetest music in the world, the heavy “whirl-whirl/chop/chop” of a helicopter. Jeremy tried to concentrate on the sound and run toward it. He frantically thought of ways to attract the chopper. Grant ran toward a clearing and energetically waved his black pajama top in the hope of being seen. The American U.S.A.F. HH-53B Jolly Green Giant helicopter (a U.S. Air Force Rescue Helicopter) slowly cruised the area and attempted to pick up an emergency frequency signal from another downed pilot. Grant’s rescue had been miraculous. He had, in fact, been on the verge of dying from exposure, malnutrition and the ravages of fever.
The PJ (Air Force Para-Rescuemen) had been looking for another downed pilot, when he glanced downward and saw this strange looking individual waving a ragged black pajama top at him. The PJ immediately knew that it had to be an American, because he had never seen a six-foot-five VC before. The second PJ nervously scanned the thick foliage for any sign of the enemy, his Gatling gun sweeping the area in anxious anticipation of combat. The crew chief, Tsgt Ray B. Stone, manned the other gun, and kept whispering, “Hurry up, hurry up, I got a bad feeling.”
One of the PJ’s, SGT. Anthony “Tony” De Grazia, shouted to the pilot, “CPT Brown, at three o’clock, there is a guy waving at me, come around, come around now!”
CPT Brown brought his aircraft around and also spotted the ragged looking individual. CPT Brown, a cagey Vietnam veteran, was concerned about the sudden appearance of this ghost-like creature in the middle of the clearing. Suspecting a Vietcong trap, CPT Brown picked up his radio transmitter and depressed the talk key.
“Bird Dog 1, this is Spooky 7, over.”
“Spooky 7, this Bird Dog Leader, what can I do for you?” The voice was heavily accented in a deep southern Texas drawl.
“Bird Dog Leader, we are going in on an attempt pick-up however, I feel real hinky and I suspect a trap, can you provide some cover?”
“No problema, amigo, that’s Spanish for friend, you understand. We are six-clicks (kilometers) north of Elephant Valley, near the river, and we will be there in about four mikes (minutes),” answered Major Sam Houston Dennis, the flight leader and detachment commander of the 50th TFW (Tactical Fighter Wing) out of Da Nang.
“Bird Dog Leader to all my puppies, follow me, we got a mission just south of here.” Major Dennis shoved his stick to the firewall and kicked in his afterburners. The F-4 Phantom screamed and trembled as the afterburners shot it forward at more than Mach 1. The three other planes in his flight followed right behind him, like a pack of hunting dogs following a raccoon scent.
Three minutes and forty seconds later, Major Dennis spotted the slow-flying HH-53B. Bird Dog Leader buzzed the Jolly Green Giant to let CPT Brown know that the hound dogs were around. CPT Brown sighed a breath of relief and called SGT De Grazia on the intercom.
“Tony, you be careful out there. Any sign of trouble, shoot first and we’ll Didi Mao (Vietnamese GI slang for scram) out of here,” CPT Brown yelled in the microphone.
“Bird Dog Leader, from Spooky 7, my PJ is going in on the penetrator, keep your eyes open, over.” CPT Brown said, hoping and praying that they would not be needed.
SGT De Grazia nervously scanned the area, but not seeing any obvious enemy signs, he slowly lowered himself down the winch. Tsgt Byron, the crew chief, provided cover with the mini-gun. SGT De Grazia nervously covered the area with his M-16. The tall, but scraggly looking man staggered toward him. Although Tony recognized the tall apparition as a Caucasian white male, the tall man had somehow picked up a greenish tint to his skin and was covered with open sores.
Slipping as he walked, Jeremy made slow progress toward the nervous SGT De Grazia. Every step seemed to take an eternity. He noticed the nervousness in the young airman’s eyes and tried to smile at him. However, his lips were so parched that it only caused him pain, and he frowned instead. He eventually reached Tony and stammered.
“Thank God! Thank God!” Jeremy’s voice cracking with joy.
“Who are you?” Screamed De Grazia.
“CPT Grant, CPT Grant, US Army, Special Forces, I was