Reincarnation: A fight for survival

Chapter 3

He uneasily wiped the sweat from his forehead and chuckled silently to himself as he stared up toward the sky and mutilated remains of the tree tops. Even though the C130 had done a good job at trimming them, most of the trees around him still stood a good ten or fifteen feet tall. Had their tops not been ripped off, they may have been closer to twenty or thirty.

Regardless, the height of these trees didn't concern him so long as their trunks could still provide cover. It was one small detail that gave him a sense of comfort because with every step he took, he felt like hitting the dirt. His gut told him that something was watching him, something more than a bug or a jungle rat. What he didn't know was if he was being drawn in on the sights of an AK-47, or simply being eyed by a local. Either way, something or someone was keeping tabs on him, and he didn't like it one bit.

In a very nonchalant manner, Galen turned slowly on his heel and began walking backwards as he scanned the scenery behind him. There was no movement, no shifts in the bush, no birds rustling in branches, only the endless amounts of trees swaying together in a passing breeze.

More slowly this time, Galen turned back to face the proper direction, still scanning over the area as the incline of the hill began to get a lot steeper. Right up ahead was a familiar sight; it lay impaled into the ground with the mounted engines no longer spinning. A broad piece of its aluminum plating lying on top of several toppled trees behind it in its path of destruction.

Galen took a moment to inspect the severed wing of the C-130, and the couple dozen yards of trees it had flattened right down to the forest floor. A large hole had burned right through the wing where the lightning had hit and drained it of it's of fuel long before it had hit the ground. The scorch marks that extended out from the ragged opening told Galen that the fuel had been burning as the plane went down. If that was the case then the plane was lucky to have made it so far instead of just simply blowing up mid-air.

Lucky me, Galen thought.

When he was done looking at what was left of the wing, he got out of that flat section of the forest and back to the scar. Too much open space with no cover around him could get him shot. He kept pressing on up the hill, his breath growing weary as the incline made him do more climbing than walking. But still he ordered himself to keep going, no matter what. He needed to figure out where he was and there was still one more body he wanted to find.

The end of the scar was fast approaching as he pressed onwards, which would mean the top of the hill. This put a hup-too in Galen's step as he picked up his pace. Soon enough he found himself back on even ground, though still surrounded by trees twenty feet tall that obscured his view of anything beyond them. If he wanted his vantage point, he needed to climb one.

Swallowing hard, the soldier held his head up and pushed the thoughts of the height out of his mind. He wouldn't be a good paratrooper if he was scared of falling out of some damned tree!

He began to wander around the hill top, searching for a decent place to climb. It had to be taller than the other trees, and it had to have branches all the way up or else he was going to have one short trip. Fortunately he didn't have to go far to find one. A pine tree.

At first, Galen rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He looked to the side and back again but sure enough it was still there. It was real and right in front of him.

Why the Hell is there a pine tree in Vietnam?

The question only had a second to occupy Galen's mind before he shoved it out and refocused on his task. Dropping his pack on the ground and setting his rifle down with the safety on for once, he approached the soaring pine with determination stuck to his face. All the way up its trunk were considerably large knots, withered limbs, and needled branches protruding every which way from its bark. This tree was the only one of its kind in the entire area, the others being simple deciduous trees that had claimed rest of the hill and much of the forest below.

The private took one look up the evergreen before him then spat onto his palms, rubbing the saliva around before taking hold of the pine's bark. One branch at a time, he began his way up, one arm reaching forward, one leg pushing up.

"Not much farther... I'll be... Urrghh, back in US hands... dammit... by t'night, or by mornin.'"

The bandage wrapped around his left arm started to bleed through, sharp aches working their way into the muscle once again. Hard, stabbing pains made his bicep throb, but Galen hung on for dear life.

Forcing himself past the pain in his arms, he fought for every inch toward the top. He grunted as he pulled himself up another few branches and closer to his goal. Planting his boots onto two separate little nubs on either side of him, he found the perfect perch come into sight. Just a few feet above him hung a wide branch that was possibly thick enough to support the young soldier's weight. He would have to find out.

Snap!

"Whoa, s**t!" he yelled as a branch snapped in his lead hand. Chunks of bark were pulled off the tree as he desperately clawed for the branches around him around him with his body tipping backwards.

"s**t!" he swore as he managed to dig his fingers into the sides of the trunk and reel himself in.

Doing his best to fight the queasy feeling surging up in his stomach, he leaned over to peer down at the ground he had come so close into meeting again. His breathing suddenly got very heavy, with the rapid thumping in his chest sinking down into his stomach.

Beneath him was a good twenty five feet of daylight and a whole lot of little branches that would do nothing to slow any sort of rapid descent. Blood pounding through his ears, Galen reached up and grabbed onto that wide branch above with a death grip, breathing hard as he pulled himself up and onto the perch.

At first his place in the tree top began to bend downward, bits of dead bark cracking and breaking off. The beating in his chest nearly stopped completely when it began to creak. If it was going to snap and send him to his doom, now would be the time.

It ain't the fall that kills you; it's that sudden stop at the bottom.

Galen found himself giggling now at his father's wicked sense of humor. If he was going to die, it would at least be with a smile. But at last, the precarious tree limb upon which he found himself resting finally held still.

The stagnate air pent up in his lungs escaped as he laughed away the tension in his mind. He took a moment to try and slow his heavy breathing and silence that pounding in his ears. He even glanced over the side to see how high he sat. A decision he immediately regretted upon realizing he was nearly thirty feet up.

Another brush with death, he thought, pressing his back against the tree and shut his eyes to settle his nerves. Either the devil doesn't want me, or God indeed loves me. Either way, let's find out exactly where the Hell I am.

Giving one last sigh, he opened his eyes and looked out to the direction that he had flown in from. He saw not a city in the distance, nor any aircraft buzzing about, nor the burst of flak around a flood of search lights in the evening sky. There were no signs of war or rattling off of AK-47s or M60s in the distance. Only the vast expanse of an untouched forest.

Several clearings, both big and small, were scattered all over with flocks of birds gliding over the tree tops. Trails of smoke steadily rose from several of the open areas, but it didn't seem to be from the crash of any aircraft. The smoke was thin and steady, like a camp fire, not thick and plumy as it was with burning oil. That meant somebody was cooking, and cooking meant hot food and people. And that meant a satisfied belly and the chance of communications.

Hopefully they were friendly, but that chance was slim. He had to be way off track if his intended destination wasn't even a silhouette in the distance and the sounds of war failed reach him even on a hilltop. For all he knew he was deep in enemy territory which would make him s**t out of luck.

The only assuring thing he could see was the river cutting its way through the land near those clearings. It was a place he could possibly clean himself up and restock on water if he needed to. He remembered from the mission briefing that a river ran past the drop zone, so going up river would take him to where he needed to be. Again, providing he wasn't too far away.

The only thing that made him wonder, though, was what lay beyond the forest. Miles upon miles away to what he figured to be south, there were rolling, treeless hills. Not treeless from bombing, but waving fields of grass. Whatever was beyond those grassy hills was blocked by the faint silhouettes of mountain tops.

Wait, mountains?

He sure wished he had the little pair of binoculars he packed, but they were in his ruck. The best he could do was squint and stare, trying to get a better look at those distance shapes. One thing he remembered from a map he had seen of the operational area was a distinct lack of mountains anywhere near the city. There were hills for sure, some that may have been big enough to be called a "mountain," but none so tall as to have snowcapped peaks. Let alone a full range of them.