Three and one half years ago

The team of five scouts huddled behind the fallen tree, restricting their breathing so they could listen for sounds of danger. Bugs and dirt stuck to the slick moisture on their faces, and they looked to one another for assurance. The intense heat and humidity made their hands slippery on their rifle stocks and sweat slithered through the camouflage of mud into their eyes, making them sting. The sergeant gave a hand signal to one of the men, and he slid forward on his stomach, disappearing immediately into the dense foliage.

The men glanced about nervously but kept silent. Insects, birds and unknown animals created disturbing noises in the surrounding trees and growth, causing them to tighten their grip on their weapons. After what seemed hours, the advance scout returned and whispered his report to the sergeant, who pulled a map from his jacket and studied it carefully.

"It's all clear for a hundred yards. We'll spread out and move in that direction." He pointed to his left. "Keep the man next to you in sight at all times. The halt signal is two short whistles and one to continue." He folded his map away and gave the signal to move out.

Chad Kent was on the far right of the group and his nearest man was Hector White, a native Missourian, and the blackest black Chad had ever seen. He kept lifting his head and making sure Hector was close by as they crawled through the damp undergrowth. Strange insects crawled and buzzed about their sweating faces making the journey uncomfortable and distasteful. The smell of rotting vegetation invaded their nostrils causing their throats to close and stomachs to roil. Two short whistles froze Chad, and he dropped his head, straining to hear, finger tense on the rifle trigger.

"Kent? Kent, you there?"

Chad looked up and saw the whites of Hector's eyes peering through the tangle of leaves. He waved his hand, beckoning, and Chad began crawling in his direction.

"Was that you that whistled?" Chad asked as he came up beside Hector.

"No, but I don't hear nothin' either. I can't see Palliser." They both listened intently, staring into each other's face, but heard nothing. The sounds of the forest stopped and a frightening silence descended.

"What you think?" Hector whispered.

"Stay here and cover me. I'll crawl over to where Palliser should be."

"We should wait for the signal - don't get outta sight, man."

"Don't worry, just keep me covered." Chad began worming his way to where the next man was supposed to be, keeping his breathing shallow and making as little noise as possible. Each agonizing inch brought more sweat into his eyes and he was afraid his twanging nerves could be heard for miles. Chad looked behind him and could just make out Hector's hand raised in recognition, then he moved forward again, parting the growth in front of him and holding his breath. A monkey shrieked in the trees above him and he grunted, freezing and cursing to himself; he could feel the sudden jerk throughout his entire body. He reached forward, pushed another clump of fronds out of the way, and saw Palliser staring at him, his mouth open in a silent scream. Chad jerked again and clutched his rifle tight to his chest.

"Palliser?" he hissed. Nothing. He moved closer, pushing the bushes further apart and froze. A large pointed stake tilted through the blood-soaked uniform, through his friend's neck, toward the sky. His mouth dried instantly and he couldn't swallow. He moved closer without touching the body and knew that Palliser had died instantly—the floor of the forest had been booby-trapped. He tried to see anyone else and when he could not, began wiggling quickly back the way he had come.

"Dead?" Hector's eyes widened. "What about the others?"

"I didn't go any further, but I didn't hear anything either. Shit, we gotta get outta here and back to the base."

"How! The place is all booby-trapped!" Hector began to shiver. "You think they're all dead?"

"I don't know, but we go back from here the way you came. Once we reach the point where we all split up we'll be fine. Just go carefully and try to stick to the same path you took before. I'll be right behind you."

They began the slow crawl back, with Hector stopping every few feet to look behind him.

"I'm right here keep moving." Chad could see the sweat on Hector's face like bubbles in club soda. Suddenly Hector stopped again and did not move.

"What now?" No answer. "Hector? What's wrong?"

"Somethin' stickin' in my leg." His voice was ragged.

Chad eased forward and carefully cleared the muck and dirt away from Hector's pants. "Where, I can't see anything?"

"My right thigh, by the knee." His voice gurgled.

Chad gently scraped the area clear and saw the trap. Hector's pack was preventing it from fully springing, but if he moved, it would go right through his leg.

"We got a problem." He explained the situation and they both lay still, thinking.

"It's pushin' harder."

"Don't move. You think it broke the skin?"

"I don't know, but it stings and it feels kinda funny. Kinda numb."

"If you roll to the side real quick you might get away with just a bad cut. We could treat that. What do you think?" Chad waited. "Hector?"

"Mulgfls frozzn."

"What? What did you say?"

"I cngt mutng tu wk." He jerked suddenly and then screamed as the stake tore though his leg and lifted him up so that his face was dragging on the ground.

"Hector!" Chad grabbed his friend and tried to pull him down but he knew right away that it was too late. Hector was glassy-eyed and not breathing. "Jesus, Hector," he muttered, angry with his friend for dying and leaving him alone.

Chad lifted his head and saw the fallen tree where they had begun their advance. It seemed strange, he thought, that the scout went out and came back without incident, but then everything over here seemed strange. He eased himself over the tree trunk and sat with his back against it, taking a long draw on his water bottle and shaking violently. Sixteen months in the jungle with only a few scattered days off the line, and now when his tour is almost up he runs into an ambush field and loses his mates. Chad's thoughts ran briefly to the others; had anyone else made it out? He also thought about the traps and grudgingly shook his head at how bloody clever and effective they were. They worked just like a mine without the collateral damage—swift and silent. His eyes flitted nervously about the ground around him and he took a last gulp of water as he considered his next move.

After ten minutes of silent waiting with no signal or sign of the others, Chad knew it was time to make tracks. Pushing his rifle ahead, he began the long creep back to his base and was only on the move for a few minutes when his rifle barrel tripped another stake trap. He yelped and welded himself to the ground. The smell from the end of the pointed stake suggested some kind of poison and he cursed silently. That's why Hector's voice was garbled, he realized. He swished his rifle carefully over the ground around him and then inched around the stake.

The sudden, surprising collapse of the ground caused him to cry out as he dropped several feet into a pit, his rifle catching on a bush and remaining above ground. Chad stood and looked up, brushing the dirt from his face and uniform. The drop was further than he thought and he discovered he was in a hole about fifteen feet deep. He checked his flashlight, relieved to see it worked, and shone the beam around the space, surprised to find what looked like a long tunnel leading away to his left. The roof was supported by rotting logs and the fetid smell of the damp earth stuck to their surfaces.

Chad checked the walls around and saw immediately that he would not be climbing out without help of some kind, then turned his attention to the tunnel, watching every inch of ground as he moved ahead. After eight or ten yards the tunnel turned sharply to the right, ending in a chamber the size of two cargo containers. Light was seeping through a fissure in the top of the chamber and he found it easier to see without using his flashlight. That is when he saw the dust covered, wooden crate all alone against the far wall.

He turned on his flashlight again as he approached and went over every surface before testing the latch on the lid. He raised it slowly, holding his face away, and stopped—stunned. Even in the weakening glow from his flashlight there was no mistaking what he was looking at.