John O'Brien - Taken

We were paralleling a moderately used path in a small draw that ran between two steep ridgelines extending from an even larger ridgeline to our front. The terrain wasn’t too steep along the path that ran close beside a fast moving creek coming off the ridge; running over smooth gray, water-worn rocks and forming small pools with silt beds. Intel had put a possible location for the camp at the head of the creek and that is the area we were creeping toward. The path showed recent movement where we intersected it and began our climb. The dense underbrush made our going slow as silence was the key. It wouldn’t do at all for anyone to hear us and give them the advantage of knowing where we were without us knowing where they were.

It was later in the afternoon and about an hour and a half into our climb. The air finally started dropping from its sweltering temperature well into the nineties and humidity running around 267%. — well, that’s what it felt like. We made several forays to the creek, always careful to cover our tracks, to fetch a resupply of water. I remember thinking I really hoped the guerillas at the camp, which was supposedly at the head of the fast-moving water, weren’t using the creek as their latrine and laundry. With that thought, I plopped in another iodine tablet.

I suddenly had this bad feeling come over me. Not necessarily a sense of impending doom, but more that we were not alone and shared this vine-laden, towering tree-clad, tall fern and bush section of the world. With this feeling came the faint scent of unwashed bodies. I looked at our teammate in the drag position and then at the one in front. They gave no indication they felt or smelled anything. They just continued the climb with the person in the drag position covering our tracks. Being the newbie, I didn’t want to say anything about the feeling thinking it was just nerves as we closed in on the reported position. Still, there was the odor. I crept up to the fourth man in line when we halted for our usual twenty meter stop.

“What is it, Walker?” He whispered as I tapped him on the shoulder. He spoke over his shoulder still covering his area.

“I smell body odor,” I said. He sniffed several times and gave the ‘really, we brought this guy with us’ look.

“Seriously, I smell something,” I said trying not to shrink under the look but without much success.

“Eagle six, Comers here,” he said into his throat mic.

“Go ahead, Comers. What’s up?” Our team leader answered.

“Walker here says he smells something,” Comers replied.

I soon made out the crouched, shadowy figure of our team leader — I can’t for the life of me remember his name — make his way to us. He kneeled next to us and sniffed the air.

“I don’t smell shit. Did you overdo the uppers?” He asked thinking I was having a case of the nerves.

I could see the frustration and disgust in his eyes thinking he made a mistake in bringing me along. The jungle already smelled of rot and decay but there is a distinct smell that a body long removed from soap and water gives off. I could still catch an occasional whiff of that very distinct aroma.

“No, I haven’t taken any. Adrenaline is doing me just fine for now,” I answered. “With the cooling of the day, the air is settling into this draw. I swear it’s there,” I answered whispering. See, I had spent many hours with my grandfather in the woods. The amount of knowledge he had about the woods could never be imparted in a single lifetime but I absorbed all he offered and thirsted for more.

“It could be coming from the reported camp ahead then,” he said.

“It was stronger about twenty meters behind us so I think whatever is causing it is on the ridge line above us,” I said. Some of the previous disgust left his eyes but not entirely. I could see some indecision as he contemplated our next move.

“I could sneak up the ridge a ways and take a look,” I said quietly thinking that seeing I was already in for a penny, I might as well be in for the whole pound. I remember him calling to our point man to find a dense section of brush to hole up in.

“We need a rest anyway. Comer, go with him but Walker, if you’re wrong, this is your last time out,” he said and crept back up to his position.

I’ll never forget Comer’s look and the shake of his head. Here was a noob with a case of nerves and he had to go babysit. Looking back, I can’t say I blame him. We moved into thick brush before Comer and I moved out.

“Okay, Walker, let’s go look for your phantoms,” he said as we parted leafy fronds and slowly moved out. We crept up the steep ridge angling back toward where I first smelled them. We had made it about half way up the ridge when he turned.

“Okay, I smell them too,” he said and radioed back. “Eagle six, Comer.”

“Go ahead,” the reply came back.

“What do you know? The noob was right. Do you want us to proceed and get a visual or wait?” Comer asked.

“Come back and guide us in,” Eagle six responded. We found the camp about three-quarters of the way up on a flattened section of the ridge and reported its location. Nope, this wasn’t my last invite with the team and was eventually moved up to point before moving to a different team and set of missions entirely. I did seem to have elevated senses in the field so perhaps Lynn is right, maybe I do have selective hearing.

“Are you okay in there?” I hear Lynn call from the shower room door.

“Yeah, just fine. I’ll be out in a moment,” I answer although thoughts of inviting her in invade my mind momentarily. I hear the door closing shutting off my chances altogether.

I turn the water off and towel dry. Wiping the fog from the mirror, I see an entirely different person. Although there is still a hint of dark circles under my eyes, those have mostly vanished. I’m startled to notice the scratch on my neck has healed. I also notice my body has tightened up to a degree. I always tried to keep in shape but gravity seemed to be winning that battle as of late. However, the man looking back in the steamy glass is a previous version of me. The morning training seems to have had some affect.

I don a fresh set of fatigues and head outside. The smell of dinner wafts down from the restaurant upstairs. Lynn is ever present at my side not trusting my ability to move on my own. The kids and I meet as usual and I notice a different light in Bri’s eyes. I can’t quite put my finger on it but there is a definite sharpness to them. For that matter, there is the same change in Robert’s eyes as well.

Our meeting is the usual recap except it’s a bit longer and focuses more on the past to catch me up. Bannerman is working to engineer an attachment for the wind turbine to the water pump. The barns, stables, greenhouses, and other pens are almost complete. He notes that we are close to being ready to locate and bring in livestock in addition to starting to plant. He found a housing development area not far from our base and started clearing the land for agriculture. Frank mentions that the night runners appear to be carnivorous so the fields won’t need to be protected from them. Others in the area, meaning bandits and marauders, “well, if we want to protect against them, we’ll have to put up barriers.”

“We won’t be able to plant those fields until next year anyway,” Bannerman chimes in.

Bannerman talks about wanting to bring a water tower in next and have the turbine and water pump supply the tower. He also talks of having to treat the water in the tower but with the projects currently underway, he says this can wait until those are finished.

“Even if we do move up to the bases, we’ll still need a supply of water here for the livestock and greenhouses,” he says concluding his remarks.