The
signal that Blake photographed
photo by:
The Author
He could only guess that one of the
Americans from the bomber had survived the
crash. Had he left this crude signal for
them to find? But what was he trying to say?
Blake wondered.
Bending over for a closer look he then noticed
something under the top rock. Carefully
lifting it, he removed a piece of
crumbling paper that had been wrapped years
ago in a small plastic bag. Though fragile,
the paper flag had sort of survived and
later the next morning Sutton would take a
picture of it. It was one of the small
waterproof-survival flags, the kind that the
military issued to their troops. It was
now beginning to make a little sense to
him. Obviously, somebody had survived the
crash. This was the proof.
Hearing something behind him, Blake turned
around and saw Major Sutton making his way
out of the large hole. Blake stood up.
Slowly approaching and looking very tired,
Sutton said, “They’re all in there, son. We
found them—all six. From the looks of
their crushed skeletons I’m certain that
they died instantly. It’s a pretty nasty
sight. They never got out of their seat
belts.”
Blake could sense the deep sorrow that the Major
felt but he was also becoming very
confused. The two men stood looking at each
other as they were joined by the other three
Americans.
“Major Sutton, I found something over here
that doesn’t make any sense.” He then handed
the Major the American flag. “I found it
under this rock—over here.” The five men
gathered around the pile of rocks while
Blake placed the flag back where he had
found it. He even placed the rock back on
top of it. “What do you think Jim,” Scott
asked?
“I think it’s a signal,” Blake blurted out.
“But how is that possible, Blake? We found
everyone. There is no way any of them were
alive—go look for yourself.”
Sutton could be seen making a tight fist. He
bent over and removed the flag from under
the rock. “Pete, I’ve got an idea. Pull out
the metal detector while we clear away these
rocks. Give me a hand Blake. Just throw them
over there.”
Within minutes Pete had his White’s metal
detector ready to go and everyone stood
back. Turned on after the long journey, the
machine came to life—its fresh batteries
eager to go to work. From a strategic
vantage point Lt. Ngo sat spellbound,
trying to figure out what the Americans were
up to. Rain began to fall. He looked at his
watch. Time was running out.
On the very first pass across the jungle
floor, the metal detector yelped—letting out
its unmistakable chatter. Several more times
it filled the jungle with its alarming
sound. The soldiers tightened their grips on
their automatic weapons. The monkeys sat
staring, as if in a trance.
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“Tracy, give me the shovel.” Quickly
digging through the wet soil, the
clanking sound of a buried object could
be heard. Lt. Ngo strained to get a
better look. Now fingers replaced the
shovel—finally grasping and then pulling
the buried object to the earth’s
surface. Within such a short period of
time more than two decades seemed to
fall within their midst. First the lost
bomber and now this strange object.
A crack of lightening startled everyone.
“I think it’s a tube of some sort,
Major. Maybe from the plane.” Sutton
held the muddy object in his hand.
Shaking it gently, something inside rattled.
As the men gathered even closer the
rain began coming down harder. It was
almost four in the afternoon. Twisting
the ends of the tube with considerable
might the cap finally gave way.
“Blake, cover me with a poncho so that
whatever comes out won’t get all wet.
Scott, over here, hold your hands out. Mine
are all muddy.”
What are the Americans doing?
Tilting the tube at a 45 degree angle,
four dog tags slid into Scott’s hands.
Reaching in with his fingers, he then
withdrew a thick sheath of papers
wrapped in cloth. “That’s everything
Major.”
Trying to look at everyone at the same
time, Sutton straightened his back and
said, “Men, I want to get to the bottom
of this just as fast as the rest of you.
But we’re a good hour’s hike back to our
camp and we’ve got a squall blowing down
on us. It’s going to take even longer to
get back, now—and we’ve still got dinner
to cook. If it’s OK with you, let’s put
this stuff back in the tube and the first
thing in the morning, after I get a
chance to look it over, I’ll give you a
full report. Is this OK with everyone?”
Everyone
nodded—sensing the
storm’s approaching fury. Motioning to
Lt. Ngo to get his men ready to head
out, again the column of men could be
heard from the jungle tops making their
way back to the base of the mountain.
The wet monkeys clung to their trees,
ever vigilant of the intruders below.
