It was another scout campout, with crisp fall weather and sunny skies. The campsite had been squared away, with camp crafts done with our trusty scout knives, and put into action. Camp chairs, a tripod over the campfire to hang a large pot from. A communal pot hung from a wood carved pot hook had a meaty stew dished up to the hungry scouts for supper. It had been a long day, with the hike in, and work around the camp, and it was nice to have full bellies and an evening to relax by the fire. Our scout knives were being wiped down and touched up with small pocket stones, and Mr. Van was dispensing some of his usual wisdom that we ate up like candy. It was promising to be a peaceful evening until young Billy Yates spoke up.
"Mr. Van, why don't you tell us a war story." he said.
This caused some uneasy glances around at one another, as it was very well known that Mr. Van did not talk about the war, or his time on some South Pacific islands in some very unpleasant times. If pressed, Mr. Van was known to get a little testy with the person asking. But much to our great surprise, this night was a bit different. Mr. Van looked at Billy for a moment, and paused in stropping the old Remington scout knife on his boot top. Then slowly, he folded up the knife and replaced it on the Official scout knife belt hook, took his old corncob pipe out of his mouth and blew a stream of gray smoke into the evening air.
"Very well, Mr. Yates, what would you like to hear?" he asked Billy Yates.
Billy was as stunned as the rest of us, and took a moment to answer.
"How about Guadicanal, Mr. Van? you were there."
Mr. Van hesitated only a moment, then spoke in a soft tone.
"Yes, I was there, along with a lot of good young men who didn't come back. It was a bloody affair, Mr. Yates, and make no mistake about that. Terrible and bloody."
"But did ya ever have any close calls, Mr. Van?" asked Billy. He was an annoying kid at times.
Mr. Van had those light gray blue eyes that changed accord to what mood he was in. They could be a pair of lasers boring right through to your soul if he was angered, or they could have that slight twinkle of good humor when he was joking around. But then they could go as chill and hard as a granite peak of some mountain. They did that now.
"Yes Billy, we had some very close calls. Like the time we were ambushed out on patrol." he said.
"Come on, Mr. Van, tell us about it!" Billy almost shouted.
For a very slight moment, Mr. Van got a look on his face that was hard to figure, then tamped his pipe and re-lit it, taking a deep draw and blowing out a cloud of aromatic pipe smoke. He stared off in space as if in another time and place for a bit, then told his story.
"it was a patrol like any other other patrol, find the Japs and see what they were up to. We were not to engage, just find out where they were. We'd just came down off a hill and there was thick jungle on each side of the trail. Suddenly, we were under very heavy fire. The Japs had lain in wait for us, and had us dead to rights. We fell back up the hill, firing and retreating by squad. We'd just got to the top of the hill when they hit from behind. We were totally surrounded and cut off. Got on the horn and called for help, but it was going to be a while to get to us. We'd come a good far piece from base. Anyways, those Japs were not going to let us have any time. They kept up their attack relentlessly. Pinned us down on top of that hill real good. No going back or forward. They had us in nut cracker and we were the nut."
Mr. Van paused in his story to light his pipe again and take a sip of the Ovaltine in his tin cup. We were aware that the grownups had a special Ovaltine in a glass bottle in the leaders tent, and they kept it very well guarded.
"Well, what happened Mr. Van?" asked the obnoxious Billy Yates.
"We kept up a defensive perimeter until the ammo ran low. Most of us were down to just a few rounds of ammo, so we fixed bayonets and unsnapped the sheath on our Kabars, knowing that we couldn't last much longer. We were firing off the last few rounds of ammo we had when the Japs made a mass Banzi charge. They came running up that hill, bayonets and samurai swords flashing in the sun, and we knew we needed a miracle."
While he was talking, Mr. Van had taken out his Remington scout knife again and was lightly stropping it on his boot again. We somehow knew that this was an unconscious reflex, and we watched mesmerized by the tale of the ambush and the back and forth motion of the blade that we knew was already strait razor sharp. There was a deep silence around the camp fire, and when a pine knot snapped, a few scouts jumped.
"What did ya all do?" asked Billy.
Mr. Van paused and looked right at Billy Yates and replied in an even tone of voice,
"Well, they killed us all.!" he said, "Wiped us all out without a single survivor!"
A brief pause then Mr. Stevens, the assistant scout master, doubled over laughing and slapping his thigh. The rest of us joined in realizing the joke that Mr. Van had run on the obnoxious young Billy Yates. The woods rang with laughter, and Billy Yates never asked Mr. Van again to tell a war story. And I made a mental note to never sit across a poker table from our scout master.
But to this day, it's hard for me to look at an old scout knife, and not think of the time Mr. Van had Billy Yates going for it, hook, line, and sinker.
"Mr. Van, why don't you tell us a war story." he said.
This caused some uneasy glances around at one another, as it was very well known that Mr. Van did not talk about the war, or his time on some South Pacific islands in some very unpleasant times. If pressed, Mr. Van was known to get a little testy with the person asking. But much to our great surprise, this night was a bit different. Mr. Van looked at Billy for a moment, and paused in stropping the old Remington scout knife on his boot top. Then slowly, he folded up the knife and replaced it on the Official scout knife belt hook, took his old corncob pipe out of his mouth and blew a stream of gray smoke into the evening air.
"Very well, Mr. Yates, what would you like to hear?" he asked Billy Yates.
Billy was as stunned as the rest of us, and took a moment to answer.
"How about Guadicanal, Mr. Van? you were there."
Mr. Van hesitated only a moment, then spoke in a soft tone.
"Yes, I was there, along with a lot of good young men who didn't come back. It was a bloody affair, Mr. Yates, and make no mistake about that. Terrible and bloody."
"But did ya ever have any close calls, Mr. Van?" asked Billy. He was an annoying kid at times.
Mr. Van had those light gray blue eyes that changed accord to what mood he was in. They could be a pair of lasers boring right through to your soul if he was angered, or they could have that slight twinkle of good humor when he was joking around. But then they could go as chill and hard as a granite peak of some mountain. They did that now.
"Yes Billy, we had some very close calls. Like the time we were ambushed out on patrol." he said.
"Come on, Mr. Van, tell us about it!" Billy almost shouted.
For a very slight moment, Mr. Van got a look on his face that was hard to figure, then tamped his pipe and re-lit it, taking a deep draw and blowing out a cloud of aromatic pipe smoke. He stared off in space as if in another time and place for a bit, then told his story.
"it was a patrol like any other other patrol, find the Japs and see what they were up to. We were not to engage, just find out where they were. We'd just came down off a hill and there was thick jungle on each side of the trail. Suddenly, we were under very heavy fire. The Japs had lain in wait for us, and had us dead to rights. We fell back up the hill, firing and retreating by squad. We'd just got to the top of the hill when they hit from behind. We were totally surrounded and cut off. Got on the horn and called for help, but it was going to be a while to get to us. We'd come a good far piece from base. Anyways, those Japs were not going to let us have any time. They kept up their attack relentlessly. Pinned us down on top of that hill real good. No going back or forward. They had us in nut cracker and we were the nut."
Mr. Van paused in his story to light his pipe again and take a sip of the Ovaltine in his tin cup. We were aware that the grownups had a special Ovaltine in a glass bottle in the leaders tent, and they kept it very well guarded.
"Well, what happened Mr. Van?" asked the obnoxious Billy Yates.
"We kept up a defensive perimeter until the ammo ran low. Most of us were down to just a few rounds of ammo, so we fixed bayonets and unsnapped the sheath on our Kabars, knowing that we couldn't last much longer. We were firing off the last few rounds of ammo we had when the Japs made a mass Banzi charge. They came running up that hill, bayonets and samurai swords flashing in the sun, and we knew we needed a miracle."
While he was talking, Mr. Van had taken out his Remington scout knife again and was lightly stropping it on his boot again. We somehow knew that this was an unconscious reflex, and we watched mesmerized by the tale of the ambush and the back and forth motion of the blade that we knew was already strait razor sharp. There was a deep silence around the camp fire, and when a pine knot snapped, a few scouts jumped.
"What did ya all do?" asked Billy.
Mr. Van paused and looked right at Billy Yates and replied in an even tone of voice,
"Well, they killed us all.!" he said, "Wiped us all out without a single survivor!"
A brief pause then Mr. Stevens, the assistant scout master, doubled over laughing and slapping his thigh. The rest of us joined in realizing the joke that Mr. Van had run on the obnoxious young Billy Yates. The woods rang with laughter, and Billy Yates never asked Mr. Van again to tell a war story. And I made a mental note to never sit across a poker table from our scout master.
But to this day, it's hard for me to look at an old scout knife, and not think of the time Mr. Van had Billy Yates going for it, hook, line, and sinker.
