Words from Pep Memorial Day, May 30th, 1970

Words from Pep

Memorial Day, May 30th, 1970

If it had only been a dream— May 30, 1970 — Memorial Day

The sound of insects and our own breath was all that filled the night. At 0300 hours the moon rose over the ridge east of the Srepok River. Eyelids, heavy with sweat in the humid darkness, slipped shut. Suddenly a cough somewhere upriver brought us fully awake. More stillness and slowly the soft brush of bodies against jungle leaves elevated our senses to razor edge. The mines were spaced at ten meter intervals, groups of five on a single trigger, facing the trail between us and the water. In sleepy silence seven barely visible shadows moved southward passing the initial waypoint. As my heartbeat raced upward, I hoped, prayed, they could pass without being engaged. As the lead shadow neared the next waypoint, I heard the trigger snap forward and knew my prayer was not answered. At the speed of light I was blinded by five rapid flashes and the piercing scream of shrapnel tearing at the jungle. Silence, no insects, no response accept the pounding in my ears and shallow rapid breath escaping my lungs.  A crawling, stumbling sound to my left drew fire from M16s. From near the rear of the engagement painful labored breathing came to an end. Seven, eight eternal minutes passed and another voice was heard, a young girl, now conscious, “Mae”, “Mae.” Mama could not respond. “Mae”, “Mae.”  Pleading, crying, louder, desperate for the comfort of her mama’s love. Finally an order to move in and assess the action, log the body count of those labeled "enemy," radio in cold numbers of finality. Her little heel was gone, blown off somewhere in the dark. Maybe she thought Mae could find it, make it right, put everything back as it was. But, Mae could never again make her world okay. We pried her clenched fingers from the rope keeping her connected to Mama in the darkness, injected morphine and wrapped her little foot; each of us wondering what we had done. Tasting the salt of my tears, I turned away to curse life and question if God existed. Five surreal hours later, sun rising, birds singing, clouds building in a blue peaceful tropic sky, she lay on white sheets surround by tubes and masks. Where is she today? Where is the little “Mae” girl of Memorial Day night 1970? Did she grow to know the joy of being a mama herself? Was she able to move past the nightmare, cope with the physical destruction of her body? I still taste the salt and hear the sounds of that night and sometimes wonder if God exists. —May 30th, 1970 – Memorial Day: If it had only been a dream. 
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ONE WORLD  -  ONE FAMILY OF MAN  -  ONE CREATOR OF ALL