Scareforce (22 page)

Lieutenant Sandoval okayed the fire and set a watch schedule, giving himself first watch. He contemplated the wreck over the
last glowing embers of their campfire. He had thought it would be frightening to keep watch over a death scene at night. It
wasn’t. It was just sad: deep down mournfully sad.

“What the hell? Get away from there!”

Sandoval came fully awake at the shouted commands from the young airman.

“What is it, Junior?”

“Over there by the wreck, LT. By the right side. Can’t you see it. It’s a dink. Walking right up to the wreck. A lousy dink.
Hey, get away from there!”

The last was shouted much too close to his ear. Sandoval grabbed the young man’s arm to settle him as he allowed his eyes
to adjust to the starlit darkness. He sighted the line Junior indicated with his outstretched arm. Finally he started to see
something—movement at first, then form. The conical hat reflected enough starlight to be the first thing discernible.

“It looks like some old mama-san. But what’s she doing out here?”

Rockford was awake. He had joined their contemplation of the scene.

“Junior, I thought you said the vil was empty.” There was just enough accusation in his voice to turn the young man around.

“It was empty. Dead empty. I don’t know where the hell she came from, Sarge, but it wasn’t from the vil.”

Before either of the senior men could protest, the young airman grabbed his M-16 and was across the clearing in three strides.

“You’re not supposed to be here. This is government property.”

The indignant boy grabbed the arm of the old villager and tugged her back. She turned and lifted her eyes to the tall young
man. The moon illuminated her wrinkled face. The cold glow also illuminated the sorrow embedded in her furrowed countenance.
All three men could see the sadness, could feel the pain.

The young man let go of the arm with a partially smothered gasp. Mild reproach crossed the ancient brow and then she turned
back to the wreck.

“Let her be, Junior. I don’t think she means any harm.” Sergeant Rockford beckoned the younger man to return to their position.

“But Sarge, we can’t let her mess around the crash.”

“I don’t think they intend to disturb the wreckage.”

It took a minute for the multiple designation to sink in for Jose. He was startled to see that the old woman had been joined
by three more of her kind. It was impossible to tell with any certainty in the weak light if the newcomers were as old, or
even female. But a strong feeling that accompanied their silent arrival made the composition of the groups very clear.

All three Air Force men watched silently as the figures approached the blackened circle of earth that held the remains of
the craft. They watched as the figures chose four separate points around the wreck, roughly approximating where the four members
of the crew must have been when they died. They watched as the old ones silently bowed to the pile of ruined machinery, then
in perfect unison sank to their knees.

From the kneeling group came a gentle sound. The sound was so light and low that it could almost be mistaken for the rustling
of branches in the woods or the susurration of a nearby stream. But it wasn’t.

“What is it, Sarge?” Sandoval was transfixed by the sight and sound.

Rockford was frowning at the sight in concentration. “I think it’s a ceremony. I think they’re Buddhists and this is something
for the dead.”

“You mean they’re holding a funeral or something for our guys.” Reagan was clearly confused by the thought.

“Not a funeral really. Buddhists don’t think that way about death.”

“How do you mean, Sarge?” whispered the lieutenant. None of the three realized how quietly they were talking. It just seemed
the right thing to do.

“Near as I can understand, they don’t have funerals like we do. They believe that death is a natural step. A step along to
the next life that must be taken carefully. They don’t believe in doctors and hospitals trying to prolong life. And they don’t
believe that dying people should be drugged up so they can’t feel pain. They believe that you should exit this life meditating.
The
Book of the Dead
gives specific instructions on how to die.”

“The book of what?” Junior was still watching the scene around the wreckage, but he was listening intently to Rock-ford’s
explanation.

“The
Book of the Dead.
It’s kind of a short course in death and dying. It’s really more like a map for the faithful to follow into the next life.
What those people down there are doing is helping the crew remember how to get on.”

“But that crew is already dead. They were toast hours ago.”

“Yeah, but the way they believe is that there’s still time to help. The spirit or whatever is supposed to hang around for
a while after death.”

A mild shudder passed around the watchers as they contemplated this bit of information.

“They believe that they can set an example of the way to do it, the way to chant and meditate. Eventually the spirit will
get the idea and join them. Then they can pass on to what comes next.”

All three fell silent as they watched a group that they could barely see and listened to sounds they couldn’t really hear.

“How will they know?”

The question retrieved their attention. The two older men turned to face the boy.

“How will they know when it’s over? How will they know that it worked?”

“I don’t know how but I guess they do.” Sergeant Rockford gestured with his eyes back at the crash site; the other two turned
and gazed in silent wonder. The crash site was empty. The mourners had departed as silently as they had come. It was as if
they had faded like the ghosts they came to help.

The vibration through the floor was like a gentle hand shaking the three back to some semblance of alertness. The rest of
the night at the site had been peaceful, uneventful, and anything but restful.

“You guys look like shit warmed over.” The gunner laughed as he looked at the bedraggled trio. Then, remembering that one
of the group was an officer, he added, “No offense LT.”

Sandoval just shook his head without raising his eyes. The night had faded from the sky but his questions had not faded with
it.

“You guys didn’t like being all alone with a bunch of dead guys, didya. Bet it gave you the shakes.”

The gunner was intent on being obnoxious. It seemed to be a hobby with him. Only Junior was willing to rise to the bait.

“It wasn’t so bad. And we weren’t so lonely either.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Who kept you company? The bogeyman? Or maybe the Grim Reaper?” His braying laugh was just as obnoxious as
the rest of him.

“Nah, just some old villagers.” The airmen seemed reluctant to discuss what they had seen with a jackass like him.

“Villagers, my ass. What villagers? Not from that vil. Ain’t nobody in that vil. Ain’t never going to be nobody there ever.”

“What do you mean Airman First Class Michaels?”

The use of his formal designation by the senior NCO sobered the gunner somewhat.

“That vil, Sarge, er… Sergeant Rockford. That’s Chou Loc. You guys know about Chou Loc, don’t you?”

The look in the eyes of his listeners gave the negative answer.

“Nobody lives in Chou Loc anymore. Charlie took care of that. Used to be a right friendly place. They really liked GIs there.
Hated the commies, too. Helped us out a lot. Then somebody told the bad guys about it. Charlie marched a bunch of real bad
dudes in there one night when the gunships were off protecting some other vil. The headman tried to get the word back to us,
but by the time it got through all the politicians and dipshits, it was all over.”

“What was all over?”

“They took care of Chou Loc.” The obnoxious gunner warmed to his tale. “They decided to make it an example for all the other
villages. First they started with the headman and his family. They made him watch while they used and abused his wife and
daughter, then they killed them in front of him. Then they brought out all the little kids. They skinned ’em in front of their
parents and the headman. Took ’em a long time to die. Next they killed off all the women and young men. Did it as slow and
painful as they could. Finally they killed all the old folks, one at a time. Made a game out of it. I hear they really enjoyed
their work. After it was all over they took the bodies and made a bonfire in a clearing outside of town. Didn’t want to burn
the vil. They wanted to leave that standing so that no one would forget what happens when you don’t help Charlie. Hey, I’ll
bet that was about where you guys spent the night.”

“How… how do you know all this?” Sandoval spat the words out. The gunner recoiled as if he had been accused of the atrocities.

“Hey LT, I’m just reporting what I heard.”

“What the lieutenant means is how did you hear it in such detail, Airman?”

“That was the neat thing about it. They made the headman watch and then they turned him loose. Needed someone to tell the
story. That’s all he did after that. Just tell the story over and over. He was crazy as a loon after that. Real bughouse.
Funny old geezer. But it worked. Nobody goes near that vil.”

Sandoval shut out the laughter of the gunner and stared out the window of the speeding helicopter.

He was now certain about what had happened on the previous night. Some way, somehow, the three had witnessed the former inhabitants
of Chou Loc. The villagers had been unable to take the proper steps into the next world. They had been parted from this one
too suddenly. Just as suddenly as the crew from the helicopter. They had been unable to help their friends and family on the
road. They had been unable to help themselves. So they helped whoever they could.

Sandoval looked out at the deceptive landscape sliding under the Huey. Maybe Vietnam wasn’t hell. Maybe not. But you could
sure see it from here.

Charles D. Hough was in the United States Air Force for twenty years. He started off his Air Force career as an air traffic
controller and left with the rank of major. As an aviator, he amassed thousands of hours of flight time in various types of
aircraft. After retiring from active duty, he went to work for a government contractor as a combat air crew trainer. He lives
in North Dakota with his wife and two children.

—Bill Baldwin, author of the Helmsman series and
Canby’s Legion

THE BLUE YONDER WAS NEVER WILDER… OR MORE CHILLING.

Like nobody else in the heavens or on eath, they live on the edge. They’re then men and women of the United States Air Force.
They’re professional… they’re proud… and they’re haunted… not by white-sheeted specters, but by strange yet entirely true stories.
Chill to tales of the supernatural and the paranormal: of the unidentified yound crew member who, though grounded, was touched
by destiny to share the deadly fate of his mates in the sky… the ghost in the machine that brought a sleeping high-tech flight
station to eerie life… the image of the Indian warrior on his horse dogging the tails of strategic bombers… the hearst-stopping
landing of a killer jet by a unliving hand… the UFO encounters that the top brass says didn’t happen, but that their top guns
know did… and more. These are the sightings, the legends, and the mysterious, unexplained, and unauthorized reports of the
United States…

SCAREFORCE

“A SOLID, DOWN-TO-EARTH, AND EXTREMELY KNOWLEDGEABLE BOOK on odd, weird, and thoroughtly researched incidents
that rarely, if ever, make the news…. A damn good read that will delight students of the
real
paranormal in our time.”

—Martin Caidin, author of
Marooned
and
Ghosts of the Air