The Enemy Has A Face

What’s a good way to start your day in combat? For me it was an uninterupted breakfast, which means an early start, because most anything could and would interrupt a late beginning. We had a short firefight just after dark last night.  We often slept across well worn trails in hopes of unwary company. After our brief exchange things settled in. None of my troops were hit.  All was well. I fell into a pretty deep sleep, as I knew that quick action was enough to keep the troops alert.

I could feel the tension slowly building within the soldiers around me the next morning.  Since the enemy knew our position, we would move out to pursue further contact…and we would make contact soon. We were in a place called the Toilet Bowl, a mountainous area deep into enemy controlled territory. My chow was hot and tasting pretty good, when a hand brushed my shoulder for attention. It was a squad leader. They rarely bothered me, unless they had a sick or wounded paratrooper on their hands.

“We need you Doc,” he said. “Finish eating, but LT (our lieutenant) needs you pretty soon.”  Then, as a matter of fact he added, “Bring your bag Doc.”

I replied, “Thanks, I’ll hurry up.”  I am thinking the day is already deteriorating. Something was up.

Wiping my face, I made haste toward my last sight of the squad leader.  To my surprise, an enemy soldier laid in the middle of the trail. A prisoner was not an every day experience. My first one had tried to kill us with a grenade and I really didn’t care to see another live one. Instinctively, I slowed my approach. They waived me in.

The squad leader barked, “He’s hit in the stomach Doc. LT wants you to do what you can. The chopper is already on the way to pick him up.”

I replied, “Have you checked him?

With a knowing glance he replied, “Checked him myself. He’s all yours Doc.”

This particular squad leader did everything meticulously. I bent down and eased up within an arm’s length. I slowly unzipped the medical bag and turned to meet the new addition to our morning. His shirt was open, haphazard from the search.  I could see the entry wound.  Other than the smell of dried blood, this soldier was clean, cleaner than me. His hands were bound. My eyes moved up until I saw his face. His eyes, that followed my slightest movement, dark and filled with hate, caught my quick attention. If looks could kill, I’d be a goner. That didn’t make my job any easier. I was glad I’d finished my breakfast.

I gently turned him over to look for the exit wound. Finding none, I rolled him back to get things started. Those eyes still locked on my every move, as my mind went through the process of assessment. He breathed in obvious pain, yet his hate seemed to work in his favor. This man was a fighter and would not give up his life easily. Obviously, he was hit several hours ago. He laid in the brush all night, as I slept soundly. 

The squad leader had heard him groan sometime during the night. Caught in complete surprise, his comrades ran for their lives, leaving him a stone’s throw from us. At first light our men dragged his carcass in and stripped searched him for weapons or grenades.  My hands were the first remotely friendly touch. It was hard being nice to someone who stared like that, with eyes that would have shot you just yesterday, and would even shoot you now, given the slightest opportunity. I hurried up at the sound of an incoming chopper.

We picked him up and laid him on the floor of a resupply chopper. They would fly him directly to the South Vietnamese for interrogation. He had the bearing of a disciplined soldier. There was a lot of information behind those dark penetrating eyes. I returned to my ruck and reattached my medical bag, just in time for the order to move out.

Currahees…LT told me the next day that the prisoner didn’t make it. Fortunately, I rarely heard a report like that. If I could touch them alive, most made it. This gave me mixed emotions. Every day thereafter, I knew that we were walking through the bush hunting other battle hardened soldiers. We had to be just a little bit better to walk away from this war. I had seen the face of the enemy, up close and personal. I shall never forget those eyes…that still seem to follow my slightest movement.