“…There were eighteen of us, four days earlier, when we arrived in Laos.  We were assembled as a raiding team to help the spooks with a job that was a big secret.  Unfortunately, it never got off the ground, because from day one, there was an attack and it turned into a huge firefight that lasted for three days.  The only way to get the wounded out was to stuff them into the transport planes that brought us, and fly them out.  Then come back and pick up the rest of us.  We ended up at one end of the airstrip, and the bulk of the men at the other.  Three to four hours was all it would take to get back and pick us up.  As we waited for the air transport to return, a large body of enemy infantry cut right through us and effectively isolated us at one end of the airstrip.  We could hear the firefight raging at the other end, as the group of Americans sold their lives at the highest price possible.  By four in the afternoon, it was over.  An ominous silence replaced the sounds of battle….”

“….Gentlemen, grab your gear and let’s go.  We have a long walk ahead of us.” Our CO said this, as he strapped down his equipment.  “Get ready on the double, because we’re next.”  He glanced at us; walking past the dent in the ground we called a foxhole. There were three of us following him at a jog, on an east-south east heading, in the general direction of South Vietnam.  There was two hundred miles between us, and the border, and we were not supplied with enough rations and water to travel that distance, on foot.  There was always the occasional mud hole and stream for water, even succulent plants; and in a pinch, the blood of a water buffalo would provide fluid.  We didn’t dare radio for help because the radio broadcast would announce our presence, and notify the NVA that there were survivors from the air strip.  We were in violation of International law, and all kinds of diplomatic agreements.  After all, we were not at war with Laos, and our government would only deny our existence.  There was no help coming….”

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