Cambodian Sanctuary (Vietnam Ground Zero Military Thrillers Book 17) by Eric Helm

Author:Eric Helm [Helm, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2021-04-22T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

IN THE JUNGLE NEAR ELEPHANT EAR, CAMBODIA

As the dust of battle began to settle, Fetterman realized he had been separated from the rest of his A-Team; Gerber and the others were nowhere to be found. Since a reassembly point hadn’t been specified in the heat of battle, it was unlikely he would be able to link up with Gerber and the others. Blind dumb luck wouldn’t be very likely to bless him, either, the way things were going.

Even worse, he was without a compass or a map, two tools essential to navigation in the jungle. He was on his own and would have to figure his way out of the predicament solo. If not, he would either be captured by the enemy and risk sitting out the duration of the war in a POW camp, or simply die from hunger, thirst or disease. None of these alternatives appealed to him much.

From high atop the nameless hill where he stood pondering his situation, Fetterman could see across the stretch of broad green valley that lay before him. Above the hazy blue horizon the sun radiated pulses of light and intense heat. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead, seemingly soaking up the sweat with the shirt fabric. It was one hot mother, he mused. Squinting, he held his hand out as if to shield his eyes against the glare, but instead he was calculating how long before sunset, using the number of fingers between the horizon and the sun. He had learned that each finger represented fifteen minutes. “Time,” he said out loud. Fourteen hundred hours, seven in the morning, midnight — words and numbers made mortal man feel secure, helped uncivilized man to cling to the notion of civilization.

Fetterman thought about the Montagnards he had broken bread with the previous day. Other than the joy or pain of the moment, time didn’t matter to a Stone Age tribesman. If a sports fan tried to whip a Montagnard into a frenzy over the fact that one Olympic runner could run a mile a hundredth of a second faster than the next fastest athlete, the Montagnard would simply stare at the sports fan as if he were mad.

A Montagnard wouldn’t be able to comprehend the notion of a hundredth of a second, and even if such a concept was adequately explained, he’d wonder why it mattered whether one man was infinitesimally faster than another. And why the hurry in the first place? Why run when you can walk?

Fetterman figured in the final analysis the Montagnards’ attitude toward life was correct. When one really got down to what mattered in the world, civilized man’s concept of seconds and minutes and hours was meaningless. In the jungle all that mattered was how much time was left until sunset turned the world black. And that related directly to Fetterman’s current situation: he had to cover as much ground as he could before the lights went out. And standing there philosophizing, he was burning daylight.

Fetterman decided to move on.

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