M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“Be quiet!! I told you, you are of no importance!” yelled ‘Ferret’. He slammed his rifle butt against the fingers of Jack’s right hand before he could remove it from the bars of the cage.

The next morning the remaining five prisoners were told they were being moved again. The number of guards had been reduced to six or seven. Jack determined that some of the soldiers must have taken Kelshaw and the missing prisoners to another location.

His hand was badly swollen and painful when the guard moved him from the cage; it was hard to stand straight after being kept in a bamboo cage for such a long period of time. He found it difficult to keep track of time. He wasn’t certain any longer how many days or weeks he had been held.

The prisoners and their captors were being moved again. Walking was slow and painful for the captives; many were in bad shape and had to be helped by the more able bodied prisoners. It was difficult for all of them to negotiate the trails.

One morning a plane was heard flying low over the jungle and the prisoners were forced off the trail and into the trees until the drone of the plane’s engine could no longer be heard.

The third day they arrived at a location where they were loaded into trucks and taken to what had clearly been a former POW camp.

It had started to rain and the prisoners were wet to their skin. Jack’s hand and now his arm had continued to swell and was badly infected. His head ached and he was shivering uncontrollably.

He was overheard trying to speak to one of the other prisoners. ‘Ferret’ wordlessly opened his cage pulled him out and shoved him toward a hole in the ground that was partially full of water; he was pushed in. Jack would remain in the pit for four days.

Rations were short, only a small portion of rice was given to the prisoners; enough to keep them alive. Jack was given nothing. He had no memory of being dragged out of the pit. He was very ill. Later he was told he had lost so much weight his clothes hung on him like a scarecrow.

The two Meo guides who had accompanied Kelshaw and Hubbard had escaped and returned to Vang Pao’s camp advising him of the two men’s capture.

The General assigned several of his men to track and observe the prisoners and their whereabouts. Any attempt at rescue must not jeopardize any other prisoners. It had to be all or nothing.

Word came that the prisoners had been divided into two groups and had been moved to different locations. Kelshaw and three other prisoners were taken to a camp close to Phou Pha Thi. Hubbard and the remaining prisoners were being moved to a camp near the Plain of Jars.

It was reported to Vang Pao that Kelshaw, although badly beaten, was alive and had regained some strength. It was Hubbard that the observers reported was dangerously ill, having seen his hand and badly swollen arm.

Vang Pao decided while minimal numbers of guards were with Jack and the few other prisoners, they would attempt a rescue.

Vang’s Hmong soldiers waited until Jack had been recovered from the pit, making certain of where all the prisoners were located. Using knives and machetes, they silently and swiftly neutralized the Pathet Lao guards. ‘Ferret’ realizing what was happening attempted to get to the American prisoners, but one of the Hmongs stopped him—forever.

Jack and the prisoners were taken to Long Tieng where Jack lay unconscious for days. Weeks of care followed before he had regained enough strength to be evacuated to Vientiane.

Monday, September 29, 1980

A mix of nightmares had intermingled with terrible memories throughout the night. A knocking sound brought Jack back to the surface of consciousness; there was someone at the door. Without opening the blinds he fumbled his way in the semi dark room to open the door. He recoiled briefly seeing the Asian cleric.

Andrew had spent the night keeping vigil at Charlene Thayer’s bedside. The hospital was Father Ben’s first stop on his way to the Center. As he entered the room he saw a still sleeping Andrew in a chair by Charlene’s bed.

He touched Andrew’s shoulder saying gently, “Andrew, its Father Ben. Can I get you anything—perhaps some coffee? Or would you like me to stay here while you get some breakfast?”

Andrew stretched, winced and yawned, “Ben… Oh Boy am I sore!” referring to his various cuts and bruises. “No, thanks, I’m okay for now. There is something you can do for me though; I tried to call Jack Hubbard last night, but I was unable to get him. Would you stop by the WAC and let him know what’s happened?”

Father Ben nodded, “Of course, Andrew I will be happy to do that. How is Charlene?”

Andrew sighed, “Not much change. Be sure and tell Jack where I am.”

“I will, Andrew, and I will return later. Call me if there is any change or if you need anything,” he said as he moved toward the door.

It was a little past 8:30 when Father Ben arrived at the WAC and at the door of Jack’s room. He knocked once, twice and waited. He was about to knock again when a blurry eyed man opened the door and stepped back, somewhat shocked…, “Who are you? What do you want?” he asked warily.

Ben was astonished at the figure that stood in the doorway. He appeared to be slightly disoriented and it was evident that he had spent the night in his clothes. Ben noticed the smell of stale alcohol.

Sensing the man’s agitation Father Ben said quickly, “I am Father Ben Lee, Andrew Kincaid’s friend from the Seamen’s Center; are you Jack Hubbard?”

Reality slowly came to Jack. “Yes, come in, come in Father Lee,” turning over a chair that had been lying on its side, he said apologetically, “Please sit down. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Ben heard the shower running and within five minutes Jack reappeared, still slightly wet and wearing a white terry cloth robe with W-A-C embroidered on the breast pocket.

“Sorry, Father for the mess,” he said sheepishly. “I think I walked in my sleep—it’s just when I saw you…,” he didn’t finish.

“I hope I didn’t come at a bad time Mr. Hubbard, but Andrew asked me to stop and tell you what has happened.”

“Where is Andy?” Jack asked.

Ben paused a moment and then said gently, “He is at Harborview Hospital with Charlene Thayer. You see, they were involved in an accident in West Seattle yesterday afternoon.”

“What happened, Father?” Jack queried anxiously.

“There was an explosion of some type. Charlene was closer so she was more injured than Andrew. Andrew has some minor injuries, but he will be fine; Charlene is not awake yet,” Ben continued cautiously.

Jack seated on the edge of the bed, listened in numb silence as Ben related Sunday afternoon’s events. As Ben talked he noticed that Jack had begun to tremble and was soon shaking violently. Ben reached for a blanket lying on the bed and wrapped it around Jack’s shoulders.

Alarmed Ben asked, “I’m very sorry to have upset you; what can I do for you—shall I call a doctor?”

Jack shook his head, took a deep breath and caught Ben’s arm, “I’ll be all right; just-just give me a minute. I had a very bad night,” Jack told him.

Father Ben appraising Jack’s bloodshot eyes, the half empty bottle of scotch and the broken glass lying on the floor across the room, said quietly, “I would say I agree with you.”

“I want to see Andrew,” Jack told him, anxiously.

“I don’t think you are ready to that yet—do you?”

Jack looked at the priest for a moment wondering what to do next then got to his feet and announced, “I’ll get dressed.”