sliding out of a sheath completely silent. My hand melds with the handle of the Mark II, they become one, each knowing every nuance and movement of the other, God I love this knife. Give an Army Ranger a good blade and he can kill three combatants before they even know they are dead.
I have steeled myself to the fact this is a kill or be killed situation.
The rustling is getting louder, movement then stop, movement then stop. Whatever or whoever is closing in on me is moving very cautiously. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end. The small tree I crawled under just shook, my company is close real close. I am forcing myself to be perfectly still, like a copperhead snake, they will lie in the leaves and remain perfectly still, then lightning fast, they will strike, sneaky, deadly, bastards. I am hoping he will get in close enough so I can inflict some fast heavy damage with my blade.
I have controlled my breathing, I have forced it to become silent and shallow, imperceptible to most people.
As a kid I scared more than a few other kids and teachers with my “dead” breathing, it also helped to avoid more than one middle of the night beatings for breathing too loud from my father. He had this mean anger for loud breathing, never have figured out why. I keep meaning to ask him, maybe after this mission. I have been planning to go back home for a few months now. My Mom had told me my father has been on the wagon for over a year now and has turned back into the father I knew before “Vietnam”.
More movement brings me back to reality, I am lying here as if dead, but ready to spring shut the steel blade of my deadly trap. The movement stops.
The darkness of the surrounding undergrowth is mind numbing. I have only experienced this kind of darkness one other time in my life and that was when a few us went on a trip to the lava tubes when were deployed to the Pohakuloa training grounds on the big island of Hawaii. We spent a day crawling through the caves. At one point we decided to turn all our lights out, could not see your hand in front of your face.
The jungle is so thick here it’s damn near as dark. But like they say, when you loose one sense, the others become more sensitive and my ears are going to be my guide.
Other than the normal jungle noises it has been very quite for the last couple of minutes, no movement. Maybe I am imagining it all. Besides how did he find me? In escape and evasion training, I graduated top of my class. I was one of only two students in the class to complete the total course program, Zach was the other. I know my concealment is good. But my senses tell me there is something here with me, something or someone.
Then I hear it, a faint sound of breathing, near, very near just to the right rear of where I am laying. I feel my Ghillie suit being tugged a bit on my right side leg, the side nearest the trail. Like it’s being walked across, drawing it to the ground and tightening it across my leg. I feel a very light faint nudge to the bottom of my right boot, is he trying to see if I am going to move, damn straight I am going to move. The speed of my lunge even surprises me. I feel the blade of the Mark II sink into his flesh, it slides across a rib bone and hesitates for just a second before the serrated edge cuts through it like butter, did I mention I love this knife? The bone is not enough to stop or deflect it from its intended target, a vital organ.
The silhouette of my enemy is barely discernible, but I know I have hit center of mass on the dark silhouette. I feel the warmth of his blood shoot out across my hand, could I be so lucky? The hilt becomes slippery in my hand. He is totally silent, not a sound except his body crumpling to the ground, hard, followed by the sound of leaves being thrashed by his flailing limbs. I pull the blade free and prepare for another strike, but I realize it is not going to be necessary, my victim is in his death throws, a tremor moves him from time to time making slight rustling noises. He was dead before he hit the ground. My blade pierced his heart on the first stab, proof of success of my stab comes from the spray of warm blood to my face and chest, sticky, copper smelling blood. Spraying from the gash in his chest made by the inch wide Mark II blade. My eyes are flooded with it, damn. If he has company, my ass is done. I blink and rub my eyes trying to clear them. Even the ability to make out shapes is better than being completely blind, total blindness caused by his blood flooding my eyes.
I lay still now, very still, the jungle has grown quiet around me, the thick, sticky, blood is bringing tears to my eyes, flushing them clear, or is it the realization I have taken a life? The adrenaline in my body is beginning to wear off, damn my mouth is dry. I need a drink of water, even my pill purified canteen water would taste like champagne right now. I have lain here deadly still, allowing fifteen minutes to come and go, there has been no further noise or indication of anyone else in the area. The jungle has returned to its normal crescendo of noises.
I can smell my victims blood in the air, it is beginning to dry on my skin and uniform. Sticky blood covers my right hand up to my elbow. Flies have begun buzzing his body and mine, feeding on the blood, the jungle wastes no time trying to claim a meal, after just one day here I understand the old saying, “It’s a jungle out there.” The darkness is beginning to give way to a slight glow, I can begin seeing more than just shadows. I can make out my enemies dead lifeless form laying at the base of my feet. Damn, have I ever screwed up.
The Bath
Yea, I screwed up alright. The limited light provided by the moon exposes my victim. I have stabbed to death a 200 lb plus wild boar hog. In any other situation I could see the humor in this, Zach has always referred to my Mark II as a “Big Pig Sticker”.
But as fast as stuff rots and goes to smelling in a moist jungle, this is going to be like sending up a flare to anybody and everybody in just a few hours. His smell will fill the Jungle air for miles. Find the pig, find my trail and find me. Not to mention the fact 200 pound pigs don’t go around throwing themselves on knifes.
The flies are getting horrible already, the ants won’t be far behind claiming their piece of the pie. I get up, fold up my Ghillie, pig blood and all and put it in my ruck, it’s still too dark for me to move, my sense of time tells me I have at least an hour before enough light to move out of here. Flies are landing on me, biting me, looking for something to eat. I move a few yards away from the carcass of the pig and sit down with my poncho under me. No sense in wasting time, I open my ruck and take out a peanut butter packet, slowly eating it and drinking some water. As I am contemplating what to do, to some how try and salvage this situation.
I remember the little river I filled my canteen in yesterday, about a klick back. It holds the key to the problem. I decide to backtrack, it means I will be losing half a day. The bad thing? It means I’ll have to move faster to get to the target on time, and moving fast is risky when you are in hostile territory.
I move as soon as I think I can see well enough to follow the trail. It takes me just a short time to travel back down hill to the river. At the rivers edge I open the bolt on my rifle catching the live round it ejects. I push the round back into the rifles magazine and I leave the bolt open. It should allow the barrel and breach to drain enough so when I cycle a round back in I can fire it and not have it blow up in my face. I also take a short length of ranger cord and tie it around the top of both my boots sealing them, hopefully keeping river critters from getting in my pants and boots. Once done I slip into the river and immediately wash the fly attracting blood off my face, off my shaved head, my arms and rinse out my cravat and tie it back on my head. I head down river, its about three feet deep with a silty sticky bottom. As I move I am carrying my rifle at port arms, scanning the shore as I move.
The river is heavily shaded with overhanging trees and vines on both sides giving me pretty good cover. My hope is by moving through the river it will cover my trail and possibly deter anyone that follows me. I plan on staying in the river just long enough to wash the blood out of my clothes and off my gear, from time to time I dip down into it and let the water run out taking the blood with it. As soon as I can
