SOMEWHERE OVER SOUTHEASTERN ASIA
SR-71
CODENAME: T.A.C.
"Mosely! Mosely! We're going down!"
"Yeah, thanks, I know!"
The plane nosedived closer and closer to the ground. As I look out the side window only to see a lush, vast, and not to mention green, area of jungle. Just as I covered my eyes, I heard the sound of fire and twisting metal.
UNKNOWN LOCATION
0300 HOURS
WATERS AND TEAM PRESUMED KIA
I awoke hours later, or so it seemed. The world was blurry, faint, vague. The smell of rotten, burning flesh consumed my nostrils.
"Mosely? Mosely. Psst! Hey, wake up."
"Ungh. Where are we?"
"I have no idea. C'mon, pull out your K-bar."
We walked among the foggy swamps and foliage for hours. We must have been dozens of miles from any type of civilization. But just as I thought we had been lost in the jungle forever, the low hum of a diesel truck became a crescendo of sound. God, that reminded me of being back in Los Alamitos. I could see the headlights. But something seemed wrong. Voices; not English. Ohmygosh, I thought; NVA. Mosely was at least 20 yards behind me, so I could not contact him from here. I lay down and let the NVA soldiers pass by me. After a couple minutes, two stopped on the side of the road for a smoke. Smelled like opium. Cigarettes? They talked for a long time; too long. I held my breath for the entire span. Just as it seemed they wouldn't leave, they started walking away. I let out a large sigh. Too early. One of the patrol guards turned around.
"Điều gì đã được rằng?"
"Đi kiểm tra. Tôi sẽ ở lại đây."
The first guard started pacing towards us, Walther in hand.
"Đi ra! Hoặc tôi sẽ bắn!"
"Mosely. Stay down."
"The guard is ready to shoot. We need to surrender."
I got up to surrender, heart pacing fast.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Yelled the other guard. Okay, I thought, he speaks English.
"Why no? The American's lives deserve no mercy!"
"Let's take them to base; get big reward."
"Good idea."
They walked up to Mosely and I and clubbed us with a, well, club.
SOUTHWESTERN VIETNAM
2200 HOURS
WATERS AND TEAM P.O.W.
I awoke to find myself tied in a chair. A faint light, swinging overhead; blinding me. I feel vulnerable; probably because my USAF patch was ripped from me hours ago. Faint Vietnamese voices behind the steel door in front of me. Screams. Sounded like-Mosely.
"Mosely! Mosley! Where are you?"
Two Vietnamese bookies stormed through the door, holding snub nosed revolvers.
"Where's Mosely?"
"Bring him in!"
Mosely was stormed through the door, tarnished and bleeding.
"Mosely? Aw, no."
"Alan. This time do it. Do it!"
The Viet-Cong bookie put one round in the snub nose, spun the casing, and slammed it down on the table in front of us. Russian Roulette. I couldn't do it. Mosely; he didn't care. A life was just a life to him; no point to it.
I knew Mosely didn't want to play Roulette, but he had to.
"Clear!"
A large burst of smoke and debris shot through the west corner of the room. The Bookie and his accomplice stared in shock and awe. Silence. Footsteps outside grew louder.
"Go! Go! Go!"
I saw the fear in their eyes. But before I could say anything, yellow tracers flew through the smoke, right into the bookie. Blood, flesh, and fear went right out his back, along with hot lead. His revolver dropped to the ground, as Large, alien-like figures burst through the hole in the wall. Then, they removed their gas-masks.
Marines.
"Get a move on, boys. We need men out on the front." Groaned a field commander, who looked like B.A. Baracus by the way. Immediately, we picked up the revolvers and walked outside. It looked dark, gray, depressing. Then, I knew, we were in the Hanoi Hilton: the most ruthless POW camp after World War II. American and Vietnamese chants flew from every corner of the courtyard.
HANOI PENITENTIARY FACILITY
2300 HOURS
WATERS AND USAF TEAM REBEL ON NVA
"Let's go Mosely. Mosely?"
Mosely wasn't there. He was probably off fighting. I couldn't leave my buddy. I searched every unoccupied room in the facility, while soldiers distracted the Viet-Cong. No sign. I sat down in the Western Courtyard; on a bench next to some bushes. Just then, a pair of hand reached up and covered my mouth from the bushes.
"Shhh." said Mosely.
"Mosely? Where did you go?"
"Thought I'd look around awhile. Nice digs. Hey, I found a back alley to the fishing area. There's a neat little sampan there. Let's go."
We crouched along the West wall until we reached an oak gate. Mosely pushed open the door, leading to a stone walkway. Down a hill, there was a river, with a bamboo sampan on the water. We hopped in, and started rowing, as the faint sound of explosions and screeches faded away.
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