The Orchid

At first light, when the B-40 rockets started raining down on their bivouac position, Corporal Jake Thornton's first thought was that he was going to die.

The missiles, fired probably by North Vietnamese regulars hidden somewhere on the tree covered hill to their front, erupted in bright orange blossoms surrounded by acrid smelling white smoke. There was no sound at first, and then all hell broke loose. The sound was deafening. The CRASH! BOOM! of the rockets; the chatter of jungle birds awakened by the noise; and the screams of his squad mates who were pierced by the shrapnel that zipped through the morning air.

To his right, Corporal Larry Wilson, a black kid from Detroit, just a week short of rotating back to the States; on his last search and destroy mission; had his chest gashed open by a jagged piece of metal from one of the rockets. He slumped back into his hastily dug night fox hole, screaming in agony for several minutes as blood gushed from his upper body. Finally, he went still and silent, leaning back against the black jungle soil as if at rest, his light brown and sightless eyes staring up at the now lightening sky.

From several yards to his left he could hear the squad leader, Sergeant Diego Mendez, calling on the squad radio. "Foxtrot-six, Foxtrot-six! This is Foxtrot-one-zero. We're taking heavy rocket fire, got men down. Request immediate air support and emergency extraction, over."

Jake heard the crackle and hiss of static, but could not hear the response from company HQ. Mendez quickly rattled off some grid coordinates and said, "Roger, wilco, out!" He then yelled out for the surviving squad members to take cover, help was on the way.

Mendez was one cool dude, Jake thought. Here they were about to get their butts blown apart, and he was talking coolly on the radio and taking care of his men. For his part Jake felt anything but cool. When the explosions had split the morning air, he'd wet his pants. He could feel the discomfort of the spreading dark stain on the front of his jungle fatigues. That, of course, was the least of his problems - they were all going to die.

He clutched his AR-16 close to his chest and hunkered down, trying to merge with the earth. The smell of the jungle, the acrid odor of cordite, and the metallic smell of blood seemed to wash over him. And then he noticed another odor; a sweet, slightly musky smell that tickled his nostrils. Scanning the jungle to his front through the space between the edge of his fox hole and the brim of his steel helmet, he tried to locate the source of the exotic odor.

After seven months in 'Nam, and more damn search and destroy missions than he cared to remember, it didn't take him more than a few seconds to locate the source of the smell. It stood out from the dusky green of the jungle like a candle in a dark room. A bright, off-white blossom, with a tinge of pink undertone, slender petals that curved back on themselves, and a deep color, almost purple, in the bowl where the petals joined; a single flower suspended against the darker background. Jake didn't know much about flowers, but he thought it looked a lot like the orchid corsage he'd bought for Mary Jane Fenner for senior prom.

The flower swayed gently in the morning breeze; seemingly oblivious to the tumult around it, and despite the dust and debris filling the air, the translucent petals were not marred by even a speck.

As Jake starred at the blossom, he felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. He felt as if he were being slowly sucked into the magenta bowl at the center of the flower. The noise of explosions and screams faded into the background.

One part of his mind saw the flight of A-10s and F-4s come swooping over the hill from the east; saw, but didn't really hear the cloud of orange flame as the F-4s released canisters of napalm on the suspected enemy positions; the flash of 200 pound bombs that were released from the wing tips, and the twinkle of the A-10's gatling guns. Then, true quiet descended upon the jungle. He continued to stare at the flower.

He as jarred back to consciousness by Mendez slapping his helmet. "Let's move out, trooper! The choppers are coming."

He heard the whop, whop sound of Huey helicopters as they descended toward the clearing some 50 yards to their front, and realized that he was still alive, and the battle was over - for today.

He rose slowly from his fox hole and started toward the LZ, then stopped, leaned over, and plucked the blossom from its resting place and placed it gently in the chest pocket of his fatigues.