The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious
Albert Einstein
Hector and I spent several days going over the plans for my meet-up with a small tribe in the mountains and my exfiltration at the end of the mission or in an emergency. There wasn’t much sense of nervousness or caution that comes with dangerous missions in hostile territory. My presence was worked out through the State Department with the pretense of cultural studies to increase the trade of natural resources between the U.S and Viet Nam. The post-war period had settled and most of the animosities were buried below the surface under a pile of dollars.
There was little to no government influence in the Central Highlands where the tribal cultures still existed. The real mission was to see who was encroaching on the natural resources and killing the natives that interfered. While all of this seemed altruistic, protective, and quite benevolent to me, I was blind to the old agreements of capitalism in the west and the constant hunt for resources to feed the ever-expanding and hotly contested global economy.
Hector (not his real name) was a strong man physically and mentally. He had the one weakness of a man condemned to noble work too difficult and unstable to raise a family. Hector liked unattached girls who would take care of his personal needs and logistics. To me, this was the weak link to our undoing, but I had to trust Hector and he needed to trust me. That meant ask no questions outside of the mission and don’t question the methods selected to achieve success.
Hector and I stayed out of view while his girl shopped, cooked meals for us, and ensured we had plenty of coffee until noon when we switched to beer. A few days before we drove up into the mountains for the handoff to the tribe, we did a few recon trips on the small motorbikes that ferried half the population along narrow congested roads. With helmets and local clothes, we looked like everyone else, except bigger. I had to ride and look small and detached. That might have been the hardest part of the mission because I saw myself in a near-death situation every 50 meters on the road. The most aggressive rider wins unless it’s a competition with an overloaded truck, then it’s best to graciously run off the road and take your chances in the turtle ditch.
As we scouted roadways and the terrain, I became more acclimated to the weather and environment. It was the usual hot and muggy during the day and in the higher elevations it got a tad cold at night. I like the cold but not while trying to sleep. Since I was going in with only what I could carry on my back, I was hoping the natives had some nice rustic hotel accommodations for me. My sarcasm survives to this day it seems.
To be continued.
Hyperion Sky 
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