by: MacSas
August 1969
…He’d been spotted. There was no hope now. Taking his gun he stood tall, and fired…
The grenade thrown at him mercifully missed it’s target, but it succeeded in knocking him down long enough for them to advance on him. As he reached for his displaced gun, a harsh voice yelled, “Do tay len!”
Slowly, he raised his hands. Admitting defeat was worse than death. What really annoyed him was his fellow survivor leaving without him. Fury burned in him as he stood still and watched his captors talk rapidly amongst themselves. By leaving him behind, Luke Duke had almost certainly signed Kane Hardy’s death warrant. They were supposed to be comrades, friends, brothers.
A short Vietnamese solider motioned for Kane to turn around. His arms were pulled painfully behind his back. Harsh rope was used to tie his arms at both the wrists and elbows. It was uncomfortable and the rope took no time to start cutting into his skin.
A push in the back moved him forward. Two of his captors walked in front of him, two behind and one at either side of him. He was completely surrounded, paraded like a trophy through the jungle. The Vietnamese couldn’t hide their glee at their prize.