Snake School

They were ushered into a low wooden building, obviously a relic from World War II days, with rows of decrepit metal folding chairs facing a projection screen and podium. Three camouflage-attired sergeants and a khaki-clad major stood before them.

"Take your seats, quickly, gentlemen," the major instructed. "Welcome to Jungle Survival School."

"Sure ain't fancy," Lou whispered to Garry. "Thought this was a plush assignment."

"Sergeants Ramirez, Nichols and Knox will be your field instructors. You fellows are the 45th class to prepare for the jungle environment you'll face in Viet Nam. This course could save your lives. So pay attention," the major added. For four hours, without even a latrine break, they were bombarded with facts, figures and detailed descriptions of what the jungle is, and is not. They were shown dozens of color slides, illustrating plants, animals, insects and reptiles living in the jungle.

Later each man was issued a screened hammock with rainfly, some rope, canteens with water, machetes, and canned rations. One in every five was given a first aid kit. The most unusual item each received was a necklace chain with six numbered military dog tags, one of which was painted red. Their field instructors brought along several boxes, each about the size of a footlocker.

"Wonder if those lockers have tonight's Happy Hour," Lou asked of Garry. "Naw, not likely. Probably steaks and other goodies for the instructors," he added, remembering that instructors at Basic Survival training in Nevada ate a whole lot better than the students.

Three hours in a six-by, being tossed about over badly rutted red clay roads,brought the group to the drop-off area in a clearing at the edge of dense jungle. A well-worn trail disappeared down a small grade.

"Let's move it, gentlemen," Sergeant Nichols urged. "We've still got a mile to go."

They jumped from the trucks, grabbed their gear and started hiking down the trail. The bright sunlight of the open clearing quickly faded to the dim filtered light shining through the jungle canopy.

Garry took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his flight suit pocket. "Sure won't be needing these here," he commented. "Boy, it's almost dark under here."

It wasn't long before the sergeants stopped, dropped their gear and waited for the students to gather around. They stood off to one side of the trail below trees draped with huge vines.

"Okay, this is it. We'll camp here," Nichols declared.

"What do you mean here?" Lou protested. "This is no where."

"Sir, this will be your home for the next forty-eight hours.

Spread out and find places to rig your hammocks," one of the sergeants replied, directly to Lou and also to the others. "And as to where we are, gentlemen. We're between Clark Field and Subic Bay. Can't you tell?"

The three sergeants each took several students aside for personal instruction on how to set up their jungle hammocks, hang backpacks safely off the ground and select the best places to establish camp. Sergeant Ramirez took Garry, Lou and four others.

The group began to create a camp, where just moments before it had been merely a wide spot in the trail. Garry noticed that they were being watched. Three small brown-skinned natives, clad in loincloths and barefoot, suddenly appeared at the campsite.

They said nothing, simply watched the Americans struggle to set up their home for the night.

Sergeant Ramirez caught sight of the visitors, smiled and waved at them. All three smiled back, revealing excellent healthy teeth. Their tawny skin glistened with oils or perspiration. These were the Negritos, little black pygmies, who lived in the jungle. Their village of small thatched huts was just a couple hundred yards away, over a small knoll. Ramirez tossed a pack of cigarettes to the oldest Negrito. Quickly they vanished into the undergrowth.

Ramirez explained that the Negritos were part of the field training team, and would participate in the teaching the class in the next days.

"You will be amazed what those little guys can do," he continued. "They can teach you a lot about how to survive out here, and they know every inch of this place."

It didn't take long for the students, with some assistance from their instructors, to clear away brush and weeds, tie their hammocks to trees, gather some deadwood for a fire, and soon had a camping area looking pretty respectable.

"This is the dry season, gentlemen. You won't need poncho's for rain covers. But, let me warn you, don't toss any garbage into the bush. It draws rats. Put all your rubbish into the footlockers, the ones with the yellow stripes," explained Ramirez.

"Rats. What do you mean rats," Lou excitedly responded.

"You'll see soon. They come out at night and forage through camp after it gets dark," Ramirez explained. "The brown rats are especially active in the dry season. They're about the size of house cats and not at all afraid of man."

"Oh great," Lou moaned. "That's all I need. Rats as big as cats that aren't afraid of us. So, what do these rats eat, Sarge?"

"Navigators," Garry proclaimed.

"They're omnivorous, sir. They'll eat most anything from bugs to fruit, but they're clever and have learned that man often leaves edible scraps. And since they don't fear us they can be pests if they smell anything you've got that they want," Ramirez responded.

Each group gathered around their campfires in the early evening. They were shown how to cook food over the fire in pots made from bamboo tree sections, and how to get water from the big vines hanging above.

"I'll be damned," Lou said, as Ramirez cut a section of vine about six feet long and emptied it into his canteen. "Is that water safe to drink?"

"Sure is. Here try some," Ramirez explained, after demonstrating that he would drink it. He handed a section of vine to Garry, who lifted it overhead and drained a cup or so into his mouth.

"Tastes all right, I guess," Garry agreed. "But it's flat, sorta like distilled water."

"You can fix that easily, sir. Just shake it up to get some air mixed in with it," Ramirez said, demonstrating with his canteen. "Let's turn in, gentlemen. Busy day tomorrow."

Each man crawled into his jungle hammock, pulled bug netting securely around, and tried to get some sleep.

Ramirez used the vine water to douse the campfire, explaining that fires are a hazard, even in the jungle, during the dry season.

Lou took a long time getting to sleep, convinced that every movement below his hammock was a rat. He even took a handmade billy club into bed with him. He was right, for dozens of rats did wander through camp that night.

The group arose by 0600, and it was barely light under that growth. They re-started the campfire and cooked breakfast. Sergeant Nichols came around to each cluster of campers announcing there would be a trek in 30 minutes to the Negrito village.

By 0800 the group walked over the hill to the village of thatched huts. Sergeant Nichols called out to announce their coming. Several villagers greeted the class, inviting them to gather around the central firepit.

One of the Negritos demonstrated a fascinating ability to shoot an arrow at a target, without using a bow or string. He hit small targets with precision at a range of 25 to 30 feet, simply by flicking the arrow in a most unique way. It was the method used for hunting rats in the jungle.

The technique consisted of resting the arrow in the cradle of one arm, nock or blunt end placed against the curled-up pad of the middle finger of the same hand. The aft-facing arrow was then launched by releasing tension from pulling tightly against the nock finger with the other hand, both hands pulling hard against each other. By suddenly releasing the hands, the arrow shot aft and to the side towards the target. Aiming was done over the shoulder. It was surprisingly accurate.

Several Negrito women prepared a meal of boiled rice, mixed with local vegetables and bits of meat. It was cooked in natural containers, food wrapped in palm leaves or placed inside bamboo pots and bottles. They made good use of what was naturally available. The meal was quite good, the class soon discovered.

"Is this rat meat?" Lou whispered.

Sergeant Nichols later demonstrated how to get water from a banana palm. With his machete, he easily cut off a soft banana tree about six inches in diameter, leaving a stump about waist high. Then he carved out a bowl into the top of the stump. Within a few minutes, the bowl filled with a thin milky-white fluid, perhaps two cups in volume. That he quickly scooped away, saying that the third or fourth fillings would yield potable water. It wouldn't be as clear or tasty as that from the vines, but would safely quench thirst.

They spent remainder of the day going from one field demonstration to another. Both the sergeants and the Negritos took part in showing them how to take advantage of the jungle's bounty. There's a lot for survivalists to use. It's a matter of what to use, and what to avoid.

The finale of the jungle experience took place on the third night, an evasion exercise, traversing the jungle, in the dark, trying to reach a check-in point two miles away. The evasion part meant not getting caught by the Negritos, who served as simulated adversaries. Students were told to evade them in the process of getting to a distant check-in point. All knew that the Negritos were intimately familiar with the area and they weren't.

The rules of the game brought an explanation of the necklace of dog tags. If, and when, anyone was caught during the evasion exercise, they had to give their captor one of the tags. Each tag the Negritos collected was worth a bag of rice. The red tag should be used only in event of an emergency. That would clue the Negrito to bring help. If one was caught five times, that meant failure of the evasion exercise. No one really expected to succeed.

Night fell and the class moved to the starting point, a hilltop at one end of the exercise area. They scattered across a half mile in a line, perpendicular to the intended route, and were told to travel in pairs, for safety reasons. They were given a 30-minute headstart on the Negritos.

Lou carried his billy club, fully expecting to have to fight off rats all the way. By the time the exercise started, they'd been in darkness about an hour. Their eyes grew accustomed to it and they could see enough to know where they were headed, straight through the undergrowth.

They'd gone barely a quarter mile before the Negritos started after them. It was difficult telling whether the rustle of leaves was another evadee, a Negrito or a rat. Every few yards they'd stop to listen.

"What's that?" Lou whispered to Garry, as they paused hiding under a bush with big leaves arched like a tent. "Did you see that orange glow? Over there to the left."

Garry strained to see what Lou was talking about. "Shush," he cautioned. "It could be a Negrito, or maybe some sort of jungle firefly."

"Cigarette? G.I., you got cigarette?" a small voice from the left inquired. Soon a Negrito appeared and hunched down on his ankles.

Garry started to reach for his necklace of dog tags, convinced the Negrito would ask for one.

"No," he insisted. "You give cigarette and I not take tag. He pointed to Garry's left sleeve, the upper arm pocket where most fellows carried their cigarettes. "Cigarette."

Garry handed him two cigarettes. Quickly, the Negrito put one in his mouth, and raised the glowing stick carried from his campfire. That orange glowing ember was his cigarette lighter.

Garry and Lou just looked at each other, then at their visitor, and laughed. In seconds, the Negrito disappeared into the darkness. He didn't want the rice tag at all.

According to Lou's watch dial, it was shortly after 3:00 A.M.. The two stopped for a break, and to eat something from the canned food packets. As they peeled back the lids, they heard something rustle through the dry undergrowth. It came from down the hillside below them.

Lou didn't pay much heed, and continued to spoon food from his cans. Suddenly, came voices from down below, someone excitedly yelling about rats. Then they heard a ruckus of someone beating the brush.

"Rats, did someone say rats?" Lou spoke aloud. Just as he spoke, something ran over his outstretched legs. "Rats, damnit. Rats." Lou flailed wildly with his billy club.

"Hey, watch it. You just missed my head with that thing," Garry protested. "They're after the food. Eat fast and toss those empties out of here."

Lou didn't wait to finish his meal. Instead, he tossed the two partly emptied cans as far as he could, down the hill.

The scurrying rats followed the tumbling cans, and soon the men heard even more clatter and ruckus from below. Lou's cans landed next to two students down in the ravine. And the rats followed.

"Sorry 'bout that," Lou mumbled quietly, but he was relieved to be rid of the rats.

"C'mon, Garry. Let's get out of here," he urged.

Shortly after dawn, Garry and Lou found the check-in point, a clearing on a flat hilltop. Soon the sound of a helicopter thump-thumped overhead.

The senior class member popped the end off a smoke cannister and held it aloft to attract the pilot. In a few minutes the chopper landed and took the students aboard, eight at a time. Short flights took them to a road where the trucks.