SEALS Book 12 Stronghold by Kevin D. Randle

Author:Kevin D. Randle
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Speaking Volumes
Published: 2015-10-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Sinclair hadn’t been given anything to eat for two days. His captors made sure he had enough water to keep going, but they didn’t feed him. He wondered if they had been told not to give him food because that would reduce the chances of his escape. A hungry man, weakened by lack of food, was easier to recapture, and easier to control, than one who was well feed and well rested.

They had moved from the jungles and rice paddies of South Vietnam, across the border into Cambodia. Although he’d often complained about the sanctuary offered the enemy by the imaginary line on the ground, he had never realized just how right he had been. It was the difference between night and day.

In South Vietnam, the Vietcong and North Vietnamese moved at night, staying close to the protective cover of the jungle and the triple canopy. There was no talking. The point man was separated from the main body by ten meters or more. There were flankers and a rear guard. Noise discipline was enforced and the men were ready for a fight at any moment. They scanned the sky for American fighters and helicopters, and more than once scattered, hiding in the dense vegetation as American aircraft crossed the sky above them.

Then suddenly, the discipline fell apart. The point retreated to the main body and the men began joking and talking among themselves. They slung their weapons and stopped watching the jungle around them. Cigarettes were passed around as the rear guard caught up to them. Sinclair realized that they were no longer in South Vietnam. They were in Cambodia.

But even with the sudden decline in discipline, the enemy soldiers kept a close eye on Sinclair. He’d already tried to escape once and they weren’t going to take a chance on losing their prize again.

They moved through the early morning fog that clung to the ground and the trees, making the jungle seem to be on fire. They continued to midday when the heat wrapped them and threatened to kill them. They spread out among the trees, staying out of the patchy sun and ate, drank, and slept.

But all the while, one or two of the men kept an eye on Sinclair. No opportunity to escape presented itself and he couldn’t just take off running. No man could outrun a bullet and if he annoyed them too much, they were liable just to gun him down.

Through the hot afternoon, he waited for everyone to fall asleep, contemplating the best route of escape. To the west and then north because the enemy would believe he’d run to the east. But the Vietcong never let him have the chance. There was always one man awake, watching him, his hand on a rifle, ready.

About four in the afternoon they started off again, moving through the jungle slowly, laughing and joking, but always with one or two men waiting for Sinclair to make his break. Always there were one or two men watching him closely.

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