JASON STEED Absolutely Nothing

  French Captain Marcel Deschamps argued that the Americans would not be coming. He told them that if France's great Foreign Legion couldn’t defeat the Vietnamese then no one would be able too. It was no wonder the Americans left with their tails between their legs. The British prisoners, including Ray, doubted that Great Britain would send in the SAS. It was getting more likely that they would either be released after negotiations or they would remain prisoners or be executed.

  Captain Marcel and many of the other prisoners respected Raymond Steed. They admired how he kept calm, never complained, and always tried to look on the positive side to keep everyone from falling into complete despair. Marcel was a large, proud Frenchman. Io look at him it was hard to guess his age. He kept his hair completely shaven, and his moustache was grey. It made him look a lot older than his thirty-one years.

  “So tell me, Lieutenant Steed. Do you have a pretty wife and family waiting for you in England?” Marcel asked.

  Ray smiled and looked up at Marcel. “No. My wife passed away giving birth to our son. He is twelve now.” Ray’s eyes welled up as he thought of his son being made an orphan.

  Marcel picked up on it, for once Ray was as human as the rest of them. “Who looks after your son when you are away with the Royal Navy?”

  “We have a housekeeper, and Jason sort of takes care of himself now. He‘s actually in a military academy in America. He’s a cadet and, from what I heard before this, he was doing just great.”

  “In the US you say? What academy does he go to?” Carl Bradley, the American journalist, asked.

  “It’s called Quentin Roosevelt Military Academy. Somewhere in Dakota.” Ray smiled.

  “Wow, QRMA. That’s in South Dakota. It’s the country's top academy. Only the very best go there. You have to be top of another academy in your year just to be able to apply. A few presidents went there and probably some future presidents as well. How did he get in? No offence but he’s a Brit and you don’t have any military academies.”

  Ray grinned and felt proud of his son. “He’s not your average twelve-year-old boy. He was in Jakarta as a Sea Cadet eighteen months ago when the massacre happened. He was one of the lucky ones. He ended up on Jakarta—” Ray stopped short. To explain all of Jason’s adventures sounded so farfetched it would be hard to believe. “He was chosen because of that and a few other things.”

  “Oh I get it. To show you British how we do things,” Carl Bradley said. “Good for the Quentin Roosevelt Military Academy to allow a Brit in. Still, he must find it hard. The competition among the other cadets is such a high standard. How does he keep up?”

  “I think Jason can keep up with the others just fine.” Ray rested his head back against the brick wall and closed his eyes. He could picture Jason throwing his school backpack across the highly polished floor and kicking his shoes off and leaving them wherever they landed. Ray himself was given a strict up bringing; the huge house they lived in was always quiet, spotlessly clean, and rather boring.

  Ray tried to be strict but now Jason was living at the house. Lights were left on in every room he went into, the TV was left on, and if he was in his room, you could hear his music from down stairs. The housekeeper cleaned his room, but Jason would leave his clothing spread across the floor and dirty food dishes everywhere. The fridge had to be stocked with his favourite food, carrot cake. Ray thought to himself he would swap his right arm if he could watch Jason throw his school backpack and kick his shoes off across the floor again.

  *

  Jason’s long trek through the jungle was taking its toll on him. He was certain he was being followed and kept up a pace that Corporal Armstrong would have been proud of.

  Suddenly, a high pitch whizz sounded past his ear, a crackle of machine-gun fire. Jason ducked and thought he heard someone shout, but when he looked around, there was no one there. That was the most unnerving thing, to be shot at in the middle of the jungle with not a single one of the Vietcong actually visible. A tree had caught fire. The entire trunk was wrapped in flames and thick smoke. They had fired a mortar at him.

  Jason caught sight of a barbed wire fence. He headed towards it, knowing it was man-made meant there could be shelter a place to hide. Jason broke into a sprint. He reached the fence. It carried another sign written in English, French and what he assumed was Vietnamese. DANGER, KEEP OUT. Jason almost smiled. What danger could possibly be worse than being shot at by machine guns and a mortar? As if to answer the question, there were two more explosions no more than thirty feet behind him.

  He leapt over the fence and continued running for his life. He slowed and looked behind him. He continued on. He was getting close to a steep riverbank. He could just see the water. His foot came down on something metallic. He heard-and felt-it click underneath his boot, He stopped in disbelief and looked down. His entire body was screaming at him to run away. He had learnt about land mines at QRMA. He remembered some had a two second delay mechanism, but was also told that some of the pressure sensitive switches had no delay and would go off as soon as your foot was lifted.

  Jason stood there. At least he was not being followed and shot at. He could imagine the sudden flash, the terrific pain, his foot being separated from his body. And worst, there was nothing he could do. His foot was glued to a deadly device. If he died here, his father would never know how far he had gotten. He thought back to his training. “Always look beyond what you can see.” Wong Tong always told him.

  Jason took in his surroundings. The mine had been placed on the top of a ridge, the ground sloping away steeply to the river at the bottom. Jason tried to work out the distances. If he threw himself sideways. Could he reach the bottom before the mine exploded? And if the force of the blast was above him, would he escape the worst of it? Jason momentarily smiled. Maybe I should have paid more attention to that algebra stuff.

  The shooting had stopped. Everything was very still and quiet. He built up an adrenaline rush into his body. His pupils dilated, his body flushed with blood and perspired, each muscle fiber contracting like a coiled spring. Jason had to force himself, knowing that he might be making the worst mistake of his life, that in seconds from now he could be crippled, and would die an agonizing death.

  He jumped.

  At the very last moment, he had doubts, but it was too late. He continued anyway, launching himself into the air and down the slope with all his strength. He thought he felt the mine vibrate very slightly as his foot left it. But it hadn’t exploded, at least not in the first second that he left the mine. The slope was rushing past him, a dark streak at the corner of his eye. Then he hit the river. Water, warm and inviting, submerged his body. Behind him an explosion. The mine. Clumps of earth and vegetation rained down on him. Then nothing. He was underwater. The fuse must have given him two seconds and those two seconds saved him.

  Jason swam forward when there was another movement just outside the field of his vision. He strained his eyes to see its image. Puzzled, he looked up. And froze. He actually felt the air stop somewhere deep in his lungs. The last of the bubbles chased each other to the surface. Jason hung there, fighting for control. He wanted to scream, but underwater that was impossible.

  He was looking up at a Siamese Crocodile at least thirteen feet long, circling above him. The sight was so unreal, so terrifying, that at first Jason quite literally didn’t believe his eyes. It had to be an illusion, some sort of trick. The very fact that it was so close to him seemed impossible. He stared at the cream coloured underbelly, the large clawed feet, the teeth projecting from its prehistoric mouth. And there were the deadly, round eyes, as black and as primitive as anything on the planet. Had they seen him yet?

  Jason forced himself not to breathe. His heart was pounding. Not just his heart, his whole body. He once faced a leopard. That was scary but, this... The simple truth was that he was terrified. He had never been so scared in his life.

  What did he know about crocodiles? What could he do? Slowly, he pulled out his gun. Would it
work in water? Or would the water slow the bullet down so much it couldn’t penetrate the thick leather skin of the crocodile? Suddenly, it moved. It was coming. It’s monstrous tail thrashed, foaming water behind it as it came closer.

  “Gaa.” Jason blew in desperation. He pushed up towards the oncoming crocodile and aimed. The gun worked, much to his thanks. Three shots into the crocodile. The water came alive as Jason forced himself up past it, desperate to catch the one thing he needed more than anything. Air.

  The crocodile twitched, bubbles and foaming blood stained the churning waters crimson. Jason’s head broke the surface of the water he sucked in as much air as he could, filling his hungry lungs. He swam for the shoreline. A few strokes and he was there. He climbed out and ran, not looking back, unsure if the Vietcong had heard the gunshots. How could they not have? They were the loudest thing he had ever heard. He was almost deafened by the gun. Jason never stopped running for another hour until his body begged him for food.

  It was a hard march through the jungle and swamp. The days were always hot. He concentrated on the heat and fatigue and the simple motions of the hike. It went that way for hours. One leg, the next leg, his legs counted the hours. Jason thought it was a dirty, tangled country. Empty villages. No people, no dogs, or chickens. Deep hedges and bush flanked the trail with slow curves hiding possible dangers.

  He heard voices, or was it birds chatting and laughing at him? Was he losing his mind? He had been shot at, almost blown apart, and attacked by a crocodile. “What’s next?” Jason asked himself. “Okay, so now you're talking to yourself. That’s the first sign of madness.”

  At night a new fear set in. The moonlight cascaded great shadows through the tress of spooks and goblins. They watched him sleep, occasionally slapping a mosquito on his face.

  Daybreak, same smells, more rain. It was the heat that woke him. Then the flies. Jason wondered what the day would bring. His feet hurt as he trampled through a never-ending sea of lush vegetation. “Maybe I will die today. Flies will lay eggs up my nose and maggots will crawl out of my ears just like the dead cow in the river. I will rot and become part of the mud in this rotten, stinking over-heated jungle,” he whispered to himself.

  Rain dripped from his blond hair. Falling onto his face past his eyes, down his neck, and splattering onto his shirt, then running down his body and even soaking his boxer shorts. They clung to his skin, heavy and clammy beneath his trousers. He knew there would be leeches clinging to his legs, arms, back, and chest beneath his clothes, even though he couldn’t feel them. They were small and thin before they started sucking his blood. He would discover them later as he tried to wash, swollen with his blood.

  Jason longed to strip off and take a warm shower and dry off in a fluffy warm towel. His thoughts wondered from fresh talcum powder to carrot cake and more food. Food. He needed it. Using his mental notes he started to search for something.

  “No way am I eating you,” Jason said screwing up his face at the Sago Grub he fished out the bark of a palm tree. The two inch thick creamy white grub was as large as his thumb. He had been taught at the academy that the Sago Grub was the larva of the Palm Weevil. It was full of nutrients that he needed. It wriggled between his thumb and forefinger; he gently placed it back in a crevice of the bark.

  He was hungry and knew he had to eat something. So far, all he managed to find was two unripe mangos. His body was getting tired and it needed protein. It had recently rained so he had been able to collect rainwater in a make shift funnel of leaves. Despite his hunger, the thought of eating grubs repulsed him.

  It was getting tougher to concentrate on freeing his father. He was very alone, miles from anyone, deep in the Vietnamese Jungle with no radio ad no food. Even his watch had packed up on him. Using the map and compass, he was sure he was just a few miles from Tay Ninh, and if his information was correct, this was where the prisoners were being held.

  The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started. Jason could hear the water still gurgling down the trees and a few last drops pattering on the leaves. He was soaked again.

  Jason stopped. He heard a strange sound. It was a welcoming sound. For two days all he had heard was the rain or the constant chatter of birds and crickets. This sounded like children singing. He crept through the undergrowth towards the sound. Peering through the lush green canopy, he could see a small village. Maybe twelve homes and some fencing with a few chickens in a pen, another area housed some dogs. A goat was tied to a tree stump on the outskirts eating grass.

  In the center was a larger building, built mostly from bamboo with a group of thirty or so children sitting in a group cross-legged and singing. Jason assumed it was a school. He crept closer to get a better look. He was unsure if it was safe to approach. He doubted they had a telephone, so news of the incident with patrol launches would not have reached here. However, just to be safe, he thought he would wait and observe.

  Chapter Twenty

  In Scotland, Jason’s grandparents were given news that Jason had gone missing from the academy. With Jason’s father being held captive, his grandparents were his next of kin. His grandparents, although concerned, were not too anxious. They had fretted over Jason disappearing before and, although they thought he was too young to be off helping SYUI, he always seems to scrape through. They had now come to realize that he was no ordinary boy with ordinary problems such as school or behavioural. Jason always had bigger issues, such as being shot at, or being chased across Europe by Triads and then there was the time he had to jump from a moving cable car or swim from shark infested waters. Ever since he was five and he dived into the fishpond of Buckingham Palace to rescue the four-year-old princess he had always seemed to find trouble.

  *

  Jason shook his watch, trying to get it to start. He was hungry, tired, and for once, unsure what to do. He needed food. He hoped that once the school finished he could break in and find some food and water and move on to find his father. He never really had the time to wait but was too weak to carry on. The high humidity and temperature sapped his strength. He slept on and off for a few hours.

  Eventually, the children left the classrooms but stayed close to the school. They gathered in small groups and played a game Jason had never seen before. They stood in a line behind each other and held the person in front's belt or back of his or her pants. They made what looked like a long snake of children. One stood at the front talking, then suddenly he ran, trying to grab the tail of the snake or in this case, the last boy. The children ran, following the leader and trying to block the boy who wanted the tail.

  They screamed with laughter as he got closer only to be blocked by the twisting snake's body. Jason smiled as he watched them enjoying themselves with their strange game. A few children sat out and chatted; two older boys kicked a stone back and forth like soccer. Jason couldn’t wait anymore; he slowly strolled over to the play area.

  Two girls noticed him and smiled. Jason thought they were about eight, maybe older but they were very thin. Their clothing was almost rag torn grey shorts and washed out blue shirts. He smiled at them, causing them to giggle and run away. An older boy around Jason’s age approached. Jason smiled giving a big show of his brilliant white teeth and nodded at the boy. He soon realized that they were all Amerasian children. The boy approaching had slightly oriental eyes but had light brown hair and western features.

  He said something to Jason in Vietnamese. Jason tried speaking English and Chinese, but neither worked. He settled for sign language and motioned his mouth and his stomach, signalling he was hungry. The boy smiled and nodded. He took Jason’s hand and led him inside. Jason took in his surroundings. The large room had blankets laid out on the floor, each blanket with a rolled up cloth for pillow. He was unsure why the school would have beds for all the children. He was introduced to an older woman. She seemed to be in charge.

  The woman was thin. Jason thought she looked about sixty. She wore a cross on a chain around her neck and a plain black d
ress. He assumed she was a nun or something like one. She spoke in Vietnamese. The boy spoke to her and informed her Jason could not speak Vietnamese.

  Jason tried Chinese and English. To his surprise she spoke back in French and called herself Claudette.

  “You’re French?” Jason asked in French.

  “Yes, I am. Can you speak French as well?” She asked. Jason was pleased he could finally communicate with someone. She wrongly assumed he had been thrown out of his home or village like all the other children. This was an orphanage for Amerasian children; the few orphanages in Vietnam would not always allow Amerasian children to stay. If it was not for a few places like this, many Amerasian children would be left to fend for themselves. She believed she was doing God's work and was the children’s, teacher, guardian, cook, and nurse.

  He was given a stew of vegetables and meat. The meat was scarce; he only came across one small piece. He felt better after eating and drinking until he asked what the meat was. It was the first and, he hoped, last time he would ever eat dog again. He was annoyed with himself for eating it. He had seen it earlier but was so tired and hungry he just forgot. She offered to make Jason up a bed for the night, but he told her he couldn’t stay he needed to find the prison camp.

  Claudette refused to give him the whereabouts at first eventually, she gave in and told him that a few locals had mentioned an older prison camp by the Suoi Da River. He pulled out his map; she started to show him on the map, until she noticed it was stamped Property of the US Army. After flashing his winning adorable smile and some persuasion, she showed him where the locals had mentioned where the prison was. He was given food and water for his journey and said goodbye to Claudette. Even after he left she was unsure if he was telling her the truth. His story seemed a little far-fetched.