This War Never Ends

It was late afternoon when the men started back to Pal’s home. Jack was excited and wouldn’t stop talking. Pal and Homes would smile at him as they walked along, nodding, and asking him questions. Suddenly, Pal stopped and signaled them to be quiet and to squat down. He looked around, then raised his rifle and pointed to it. Jack and Homes pulled out their .45s. When the shot rang out they were startled. No one was hit but Jack felt a slight rush of air pass by his right ear. Pal lifted a finger to his lips and lay fully prone on the jungle floor, indicating they should do the same. He pointed into the jungle to his left. Jack and Homes could see nothing. They heard voices in what they supposed was Lao or Vietnamese or a combination of both. Pal held up three fingers and mouthed the word men. Then they heard the men crashing through the jungle, coming closer and closer to them. Several shots were fired in their general direction and Pal began to return fire. He aimed at the last muzzle flash he saw and let off three rounds. There was a loud cry and then silence. Jack and Homes had their .45s ready but had not yet used them. A voice rang out from the jungle. “They want us to surrender or they will kill us,” Pal whispered. “So far, we are the ones who have done the killing. I saw three men originally but there may be more. Let us play their game for a time.” Pal was very calm. They heard more movement in the jungle. “They are spreading out and trying to – what is the phrase? – out flank us. I’ll cover the area to my left. You two watch our right.” Homes, who was the best shot on the Roswell police force before he retired, grunted once, and fired into the jungle. They heard another cry followed by three more rifle shots over their heads. “Gentlemen, you are surrounded,” a voice from their rear announced in broken English. “Lay down your weapons and surrender to the superior forces of the Lao Peoples Democratic Republic.” Pal shook his head ‘No,’ and he fired several more times in the general direction of the voice. Four men walked onto the faint jungle path, two on each side of Pal, Jack, and Homes. They were carrying what Jack recognized as Russian VITYAZ submachine guns, a variant of the old Kalashnikov. He had seen many of them in his clashes with Iranian Republican Guards over a year ago when he was called back into the service for a short period. These men were all dressed in black combat gear with black masks, which they now removed. There were no insignia or other identification on their uniforms. Pal shrugged. “I think it is best we surrender.”