Low to the black water and grenade distance from my post on the shore, it sails out of the mist that descended at nightfall.Yesterday morning I was given my assignment: I am one of a ten-man squad to be deployed to an island at the edge of a large bay. I’ll keep watch on the beach while the others plant mines. We sail out at 04:00. In the briefing I was told to look out for indigenous vessels, junks and sampans. Later that day Pinky and Mills and I were walking to the chow hall when the lieutenant yelled over his shoulder, “Seaman Shepherd! Don’t fuck this up.” Mills and Pinky laughed. Pinky said, “You can’t watch for sampans on the bay at night.” I asked why, and all he said was, “You’ll see.”Three men ride in the sampan, two at either end and one in the middle; the conical peaks of their paddy hats are pressed close to their heads. They paddle out of an inlet at the far end of the beach. Their arms move in graceful downward arcs. The oars dip; the water ripples. The oars come up; the water ripples again, and the canoe pushes forward.
What do You think about The Twelve Tribes Of Hattie?
