Witi Ihimaera - Uncle's Story

Sam looked away. The old woman’s voice rose in anger.

Please, women are stronger than men. They have stronger bodies. They have stronger hearts. Let me give my husband this last gift of my strength and my love.

Sam paused and nodded. The man started to protest, then threw up his hands in exasperation.

Sam shot him. The old man slumped in his arms.

Sam turned to the old woman. She smiled a serene smile.

I used to wash my prized sow three times a day.

She took Sam’s pistol hand and pushed the nozzle against her temple.

Quick. My husband is already too far along the path and I must catch up with him.

The sound of the pistol cracked across the hills.

Utu. There must be revenge.

An hour later, Lieutenant Haapu signalled for a halt. The thick, jungled mountain looked immense, the twin peaks like horns. Clouds draped the peaks like dark veils.

‘Time to split up,’ Lieutenant Haapu said. ‘Sergeant Mahana, you take the right spur, search, but do not make contact. I’ll take the left spur. We rendezvous at the top at 1600.’ Lieutenant Haapu paused, then smiled at Sam. ‘I know you’re still hurting for what happened to the old woman and her husband.’

‘It was my fault.’

‘It was as much mine as yours. I didn’t have to order an overnight ambush. But I did. I’m supposed to make the hard choices. That’s what I’m paid for. It’s my job.’

Sam turned to his team, who were champing at the bit.

‘Ready to go, Sarge.’

‘Okay,’ Sam nodded. ‘ Diamond.’

George and Red Fleming led the team out and up the side of the valley. In a horizontal line, on the cross, came Sam, Flanagan, Manderson and Johanssen. Turei and the rifle group covered the rear. Soon they were clawing through huge trees and up rugged, boulder-strewn terrain towards the twin peaks where the ridge split and formed another valley with its own drainage system.

Ahead, George was waiting for Sam’s instructions.

Take the left ridge, Sam signed.

Suddenly, Red Fleming put up his hand and knelt, weapon at ready. He motioned to Sam.

Come see.

Fleming had stumbled on a trail, zig-zagging through head-high shrubbery and bush, which showed signs of recent movement. Sam signalled to his men to get off the track and follow at single file, parallel to it. The men dropped down from the track some ten metres and resumed their search. It was hard to keep sight of the track, but even harder to keep the intervals between the men. The switchbacks were so tight that often they were forced to bunch up.

Half an hour later, Sam signalled for the team to take a break. George slumped to the ground, rolling his eyes with gratitude.

‘Phew. Hard work, boss.’

Suddenly Sam felt a tug at his elbow. It was Flanagan, and his eyes were as round as saucers. He put his finger to his lips and pointed towards the flank.

‘What the hell?’

Manderson was sitting on the ground with his feet out in front of him and he had laid his rifle across his ankles so he could slip out of his machine-gun harness. The shoulder pads were off his shoulders and he had become rigid. Johanssen, off Manderson’s right, had laid his weapon against Manderson’s ankle. The riflemen were playing at being statues, immobile, in whatever position they were in.

Turei, who had been assigned to pull drag, was waving furiously.

Freeze. Enemy in sight.

It was uncanny. The entire group had become motionless, as if freeze- framed.

Sam turned his head. Slowly. A millimetre at a time, until he could see what Turei had picked up. On the other side of the cover the track doglegged up to the top of the ridge. There was a hole in the green bush in front of him. A VC — and he was looking through the hole!

For a moment Sam panicked. The enemy platoon must have been only a few minutes behind them on the track. Following? No. Then what were they doing? His heart was beating so fast he couldn’t believe that the Vietcong soldier couldn’t hear it. Nor could he believe that the soldier could not see him. It was like playing a game of hide and seek. The Chuck was going to laugh soon: ‘Peekaboo! I can see you!’

Sam realised it was his face camouflage that was saving him. The enemy soldier was moving his head back and forth, trying to look past all the leaves to see what was on Sam’s side of the bush. Then he continued on.

There was no time for relief. Another Charlie had stepped up. Sam froze again, staring back, trying to squint his eyes so that the whites weren’t showing. The Vietcong soldier seemed to connect.

‘If he puts his gun up,’ Sam thought, ‘I’ve got to roll, grab my rifle and fire.’

The enemy soldier bopped on by.

Sam signed to the team:

Good boys. Keep laying dog.

An entire Vietcong platoon passed on the track.

Five minutes later, when the last Charlie had disappeared over the ridge, Sam signed again:

All clear.

The team collapsed to the ground.

‘This time, I really pissed my pants,’ Turei said.

Quincey and Hempel were doubled up, trying not to laugh. Jones was on his back, his feet waggling in the air. Sam let them release their tensions. Then the thought struck him:

‘They must be going back to base.’

Sam and George scrambled up onto the ridge. There, they low-crawled to the top, and Sam tracked the Vietcong patrol with his binoculars as they entered the treeline. All of a sudden, they were gone. The track was empty.

‘Where did they go?’

The sweat was pouring down Sam’s forehead as he tried to find the enemy patrol again. There they were, hugging the slopes and moving further down the mountain and between the twin peaks.

‘Shouldn’t we follow?’ George asked. ‘Play tag?’

Sam shook his head. ‘We might get too close.’

Almost as if on cue, one of the Vietcong soldiers looked back and seemed to see a flash from Sam’s binoculars. All Sam’s nerves screamed in his head. But the soldier had seen something much closer by — monkeys began to screech and yell and move like a river away from the enemy platoon.

Sam and George went back to the section.

‘George and I are going ahead to follow the enemy. Hempel, you come too. The rest of you, wait here. Flanagan, radio Lieutenant Haapu and tell him we have an enemy sighting and probability of the base not far from here.’

He signalled to George to lead the way. They moved swiftly, keeping to the track. The monkeys were still screaming and chattering and racing in the treetops above them like disturbed dreams. The Vietcong flitted through the vegetation.

Stop , George signalled.

The enemy had totally disappeared, swallowed up as if they had never been there at all. The track ahead was clear of footprints. George, Sam and Hempel backtracked. George sniffed the air. His head swivelled and he signed:

They went down there.

Swiftly, George left the track. His head bobbed only a few metres ahead of Sam and Hempel. All of a sudden, he was in the middle of a group of wild pigs, snuffling around in the bush. With a gasp, George put up his arms, stepped sideways and fell. And Sam looked for the owl:

‘No, you can’t have him.’

In a panic, Sam ran to see where George had fallen. His friend looked up at him:

Sam, don’t come any closer.

George was in a pit of decomposing bodies. The pigs had been feeding off them. The corpses wore the uniforms of American soldiers. They were crawling with maggots, and George’s fall had thrown up a cloud of stench and gas. With his left hand, George pointed something out to Sam. A trip wire was connected to one of the bodies. Three other bodies were lined up in a perfect row and wired to blow. Behind the bodies was a black ditch.