it in his hand and
inspected it, he also found that the grip and part of the barrel was bathed in
now frozen blood.
A lump caught in
his throat and he had to swallow hard. Hayden fell to one knee and grabbed
onto the window frame for support. His hand barely missed the hair fluttering
in the wind. He stared at it hard, but it wouldn't come into focus and he had
to quell the desire to vomit. The whole grisly scene had drudged up an old
memory that he had not thought about for years. That he had in fact purposely
forgotten, until now.
Near the end of
the Viet Nam War Hayden had been drafted in to the army, along with several of
his buddies. Two of them, Tom Jenkins and Malvin McDee had gone to Nam. Tom
had been killed his second day there and Malvin had been paralyzed by a
sniper's bullet a few months later. Hayden hadn't seen him since. He and
Lloyd Gates had been allowed to stay together though, and ended up in the
Aleutian Islands.
“A great place to
fight the Viet Cong from,” Hayden thought sarcastically. He and Lloyd and a
few of the others they had met up there had become pretty good friends. There
wasn't a whole hell of a lot to do up there, so they spent a good deal of time
together. One fine spring day, when it had warmed up to about five degrees,
Billy Barton had an idea.
Billy was a fairly
wild young man from somewhere in Montana. Hayden couldn't remember exactly
where, or if he ever really knew. Billy always bragged of killing a Grizzly
bear, or hunting a Grizzly bear, or doing something with a Grizzly bear. But,
that was old news. So he thought it would be great fun to go after a Kodiak.
He'd heard somewhere that they were the meanest, biggest, ugliest bears alive.
And, they just happened to be right up here where they were.
So Billy had
talked a couple of the others into going on a bear hunt with him, Lloyd
included. Four of them left that morning in a Jeep, all carrying automatic
weapons and sack lunches. About the time it had begun to get dark and they
hadn't returned Hayden had become worried. He went to the C.O. and told him
what they'd done. Captain Stillman ordered up a search party with Hayden
heading it.
They had searched
most of that night before the cold made them quit, then continued the next
day. At about half past one on the following day, just two miles from camp,
they found the Jeep that Billy Barton had been driving. It was turned upside
down on a flat trail near the mountains. They found all four sub-machine guns
too, emptied. Spent shell casings and empty clips were scattered over a fifty
foot radius. The stock on one rifle had been shattered and its barrel was bent
nearly forty degrees. And caught between the trigger and the guard was a
finger, torn off of the hand from the second knuckle down.
There had been
bear tracks in the snow all around the Jeep and blood was spattered
everywhere. It was as if someone had slung red paint around with a bucket.
They continued to search until it was well into the night and found nothing.
The bear tracks and it looked like only one set, headed off into the woods
towards the ragged peaks where the Jeep had been headed. But they soon lost
them as blowing snow had devoured any evidence of their passing.
For three full
days they searched for the missing men but they were never found. And so went
the only casualties of the Viet Nam War in the Aleutian Islands. Lloyd Gates,
Billy Barton, Fred Preston, and Tim Gassman had found their bear.
The numbness in
Hayden's knee was giving way to a burning pain. He blinked several times,
shook his head, and looked down. Its contact with the pavement had allowed the
bitter cold to seep in. He sniffed in a deep breath, exhaled, and then put the
gun in his coat pocket. He stood and walked around behind the Jeep, his
flashlight guiding him. There seemed to be nothing more. Almost as an
afterthought, he ran the beam down the side of the
inspected it, he also found that the grip and part of the barrel was bathed in
now frozen blood.
A lump caught in
his throat and he had to swallow hard. Hayden fell to one knee and grabbed
onto the window frame for support. His hand barely missed the hair fluttering
in the wind. He stared at it hard, but it wouldn't come into focus and he had
to quell the desire to vomit. The whole grisly scene had drudged up an old
memory that he had not thought about for years. That he had in fact purposely
forgotten, until now.
Near the end of
the Viet Nam War Hayden had been drafted in to the army, along with several of
his buddies. Two of them, Tom Jenkins and Malvin McDee had gone to Nam. Tom
had been killed his second day there and Malvin had been paralyzed by a
sniper's bullet a few months later. Hayden hadn't seen him since. He and
Lloyd Gates had been allowed to stay together though, and ended up in the
Aleutian Islands.
“A great place to
fight the Viet Cong from,” Hayden thought sarcastically. He and Lloyd and a
few of the others they had met up there had become pretty good friends. There
wasn't a whole hell of a lot to do up there, so they spent a good deal of time
together. One fine spring day, when it had warmed up to about five degrees,
Billy Barton had an idea.
Billy was a fairly
wild young man from somewhere in Montana. Hayden couldn't remember exactly
where, or if he ever really knew. Billy always bragged of killing a Grizzly
bear, or hunting a Grizzly bear, or doing something with a Grizzly bear. But,
that was old news. So he thought it would be great fun to go after a Kodiak.
He'd heard somewhere that they were the meanest, biggest, ugliest bears alive.
And, they just happened to be right up here where they were.
So Billy had
talked a couple of the others into going on a bear hunt with him, Lloyd
included. Four of them left that morning in a Jeep, all carrying automatic
weapons and sack lunches. About the time it had begun to get dark and they
hadn't returned Hayden had become worried. He went to the C.O. and told him
what they'd done. Captain Stillman ordered up a search party with Hayden
heading it.
They had searched
most of that night before the cold made them quit, then continued the next
day. At about half past one on the following day, just two miles from camp,
they found the Jeep that Billy Barton had been driving. It was turned upside
down on a flat trail near the mountains. They found all four sub-machine guns
too, emptied. Spent shell casings and empty clips were scattered over a fifty
foot radius. The stock on one rifle had been shattered and its barrel was bent
nearly forty degrees. And caught between the trigger and the guard was a
finger, torn off of the hand from the second knuckle down.
There had been
bear tracks in the snow all around the Jeep and blood was spattered
everywhere. It was as if someone had slung red paint around with a bucket.
They continued to search until it was well into the night and found nothing.
The bear tracks and it looked like only one set, headed off into the woods
towards the ragged peaks where the Jeep had been headed. But they soon lost
them as blowing snow had devoured any evidence of their passing.
For three full
days they searched for the missing men but they were never found. And so went
the only casualties of the Viet Nam War in the Aleutian Islands. Lloyd Gates,
Billy Barton, Fred Preston, and Tim Gassman had found their bear.
The numbness in
Hayden's knee was giving way to a burning pain. He blinked several times,
shook his head, and looked down. Its contact with the pavement had allowed the
bitter cold to seep in. He sniffed in a deep breath, exhaled, and then put the
gun in his coat pocket. He stood and walked around behind the Jeep, his
flashlight guiding him. There seemed to be nothing more. Almost as an
afterthought, he ran the beam down the side of the
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