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Fiction Short Story

by Leland Burkhart

Run for the River

Radarman Second Class Dan Wilson shouted map coordinates into his radio as the American F-14s and Russian MIGs engaged in roaring combat above him. From his vantage point, he called in air strikes on enemy positions not three kilometers from where he set up his observation post.

As a seasoned veteran of these operations, Dan had been on more of these than he would like to remember. He planned well and was adept at moving across different terrain unnoticed. His job was simple. The swift boat ran him up the river and dropped him off. Armed with an M-16, .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol, walkie-talkie and a map bag that contained flairs, smoke canister, binoculars, compass and maps, he set up observation posts within safe proximity to a predetermined target. From there he became the eyes of the air strike. He called in coordinates to adjust as necessary. With his task complete he dashed for the river to rendezvous with the swift boat that would return and pick him up. If he ran longer than 15 minutes with no word they would not wait, leaving him on his own.

Dan watched a parachute float to the ground. He recognized it at once as an American chute. The problem was the chute and the dangling pilot had landed between him and the river. If he had seen the chute so had every Viet Cong guerilla within 5 kilometers. An American POW was a prize not to be missed by the VC.

Dan’s mind raced. If they got to the pilot before him he was cut off from the river. The pick up spot was predetermined and there was no changing it now. He had to get moving to save the pilot and, more importantly, himself.

He came down the hill at a dead run. His momentum was such that by the time he got to the bottom he sprinted as hard as he could to avoid stumbling. It was almost a half kilometer from his observation point to the river bottom below. As he ran down the hill he saw movement in the bush within a kilometer each from the left and right. The VC were moving in on the prize. Dan hoped that with the VC concentrating on the pilot, his own movement had gone unnoticed. At 23 years of age, he was 5 foot 11 inches, 175 pounds. In high school he had been a three-year letterman in track and now, in this oppressive heat, he ran like the athlete he was.

One hundred yards from the chute he saw the silken fabric billow in the tall grass ahead of him. The familiar popping sound of AK-47 fire on each side of him warned him to take cover. They had spotted him and were trying to cut him off from the pilot. At the edge of the tall grass he knelt down out of sight.

Dan knew he was in trouble. He was badly outnumbered. Time to make a call.

"Traut line, traut line, this is lunker, over."

The swift boat radioed back, "Lunker, this is traut line, we're just a couple minutes away, son, over."

"Traut line, this is lunker. I'm pinned down by Charlie. Got a downed pilot about 50 yards from me. Gonna need some covering fire, over."

"Roger, lunker. We brought company. Establish your marker and call the ball, over."

"Roger, traut line, out."

Dan reached into his map bag and pulled out a blue smoke canister and lit it off. The area around him filled with blue smoke. At the same time two HUE helicopters appeared over the trees on the river.

"Lunker, this is foxtrot alpha and bravo, where do you want it, boy, over?" one of the HUE's asked.

"Roger, foxtrot alpha. Lay down a field of fire 25 yards to the left and right of my position. I need a lane to the pilot and the river."

A deafening roar of automatic weapons fire thundered from the cannons mounted on the sides of the two helicopters. This was the break he needed. Dan came out of his crouch and ran toward the parachute. In less than half a minute he located the pilot. Badly wounded and unconscious, he was alive. Hoisting him in a fireman's lift, Dan balanced the pilot on his shoulders and started running the most dangerous 50 yards of his life. Bullets whistled past him. His ears rang from the explosions around him.

Something hit him in the back and knocked him forward off his feet and into the river. The weight of the pilot on his shoulders held him underwater as he struggled to the surface for air. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a hand seized each arm and pulled him out of the river and onto the deck of the swift boat.

Dan gasped for breath as he sat totally exhausted next to the wounded pilot. The boat turned and headed back down river at full speed. The crew on the boat explained that the two helos were shadowing them looking for the pilot. They knew approximately where he had gone down and just happened to be spoiling for a fight.

Lieutenant Paterson pointed to the walkie-talkie strung across Dan's back.

"The old man's gonna make you pay for that."

Dan shifted the strap so he could get a look at it. It had taken a round dead center and was just a hunk of metal and wires.

"Best money I ever spent," Dan replied.


About the Author
This is the author's first published work. Leland is an avid reader and decided to put his love of storytelling into print. For years, Leland has had a creative energy crying out for attention. Sales is his career. Writing has become his passion. At 50 years of age his dream is to write professionally and live in the mountains.

"I have learned, that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours." —Henry David Thoreau