Alone

Alone

“This is Red Dog, over,” I shouted into the microphone, “this is Red Dog, does anyone copy? Over.”

Still no response other than static from the radio, no radio traffic at all that I could detect. Looking around, I saw nothing but jungle and darkness, I was really alone. If I don’t get to the city before the last helicopter lifts off I am going to have to hide out and try to make my way to the coast.

Surveying the crumpled wreck; I can see that it’s no use, the jeep is done for. Taking stock of my meager possessions; I have a flare gun with one flare, a radio that may or may not work, about forty dollars in currency and a .45 automatic with 4 bullets left in the clip. The situation wasn’t looking good.

There were about four hours until dawn. “Christ! The last helicopter is supposed to be off and gone by 0700!” I mutter under my breath, “I’ve got four hours to make twenty klicks.”

Taking a deep breath, I shoulder my camera bag with the film and the radio tucked inside. Looking around once more, I couldn’t see anything else of use to take with me and I set out into the darkness.

Two hours later, I could hear the sounds of faint explosions coming from directly in front of me and dim flashes in the dark sky. Picking up my pace, I marched on. Later, as the first gleam of dawn lightened the clouds I reached the edge of the jungle.

As I broke through the last of the brush, I could see the smoke of the fires swirling with the rush of helicopters as the last of the refugees were lifted out of the city.

I was truly alone.

Dispatch: April 30, 1975-Saigon.