It was almost dawn when they arrived - five shadowy figures emerging from the nearby forest to stroll carelessly down the middle of the wide dirt road. They spoke quietly of friends and family far away, of pretty girlfriends and hopes for the future, of little brothers and sisters, of plentiful rice harvests and moonlit nights like this one, barely aware of tiny wisps of dust from their footprints trailing gently behind.

Suddenly their leader stopped, motioning his men to lower their deadly cargo gently to the soft, sandy soil. He guided each man to a spot a few feet from the side of the road, and soon they began to dig silently from the soft dirt to the gravel underneath.

Now the only sound which the young boy could hear was a frequent dull ping, as one of the small metal shovels hit one of the many pieces of gravel buried two or three inches under the sand. He had watched these men, only a few seasons older than he, from the shelter of a small stand of bamboo only ten or twelve strides from the edge of the road. The site was far from ideal, but it was the only hiding place near this dirt highway, since the loggers had cleared the forest within seventy strides of that road. Some of the reddish-brown soil still lay exposed, but most of the devastated land was now covered with tenacious and resilient plant life, and a few rapidly spreading stands of bamboo like the one where he had sought refuge.

Courage almost failed him, when his heart pounded rapidly as the leader of these men walked a few strides toward him. The boy feared that the violent beating of his heart, which resounded in his ears like the roaring thunder of a raging storm must surely have been heard by the man who had walked so far toward him. In desperation, he prayed fervently to the new Christian God, whom his tiny village now worshipped instead of their ancient spirits. When the leader stopped, he knew that this new god had heard him, and that the village elders had been right in seeking his protection. The leader had been called by one of the new men under his command, to inspect the deadly mine he had placed so carefully into the freshly dug hole in the road. The others had already completed their assignment, packing the sandy soil around and on top of the mines, smoothing the surface with the small tree branches they had cut from the sheltering forest.

In a few moments they were gone, fading into the ghostly shadows of the trees on the far side of the road. The boy kept his eyes on that road and waited, memorizing the almost imperceptible landmarks where the men had been working. When he thought it was safe, he tore some small bamboo shoots from his sanctuary and planted them in the road, marking the approximate position of each mine. Then he returned to his hiding place and fell asleep, despite the cold night air, emotionally drained from his narrow escape

A boy of his age has few enemies, but the men who had just departed were trying to kill his friends, and the friends of his village. During his young life he had already seen too much of death: The emaciated bodies of the women of a remote village, whose food had been stolen enemy soldiers. The mutilated bodies of those of his villagers who had delayed an enemy attack of his village, firing at heavily armed soldiers with with single shot 4-10 shotguns. These scenes blended into even more terrifying nightmares of what might be: His mother dying in front of his eyes. His own attempt at escape from those soldiers hindered by his inability to move his legs. In his dream, his legs seemed paralyzed while the killers of his mother moved ever closer. He screamed as the cold blade of a knife touched his throat.

Then he was awake again, and the cold spot on his neck was only a drop of water, some dew which had descended from a bamboo leaf, a short distance over his head. He wanted to return to his village, to make sure his mother was still alive, to find a warm blanket to wrap about his body and to sleep in the warmth and comfort of his family's home. Then he realized that the village would be deserted now - the women and children were hiding in the forest, and the men were standing guard with their few weapons further up the trail further from the road, closer to those who would seek to harm the women and chidren. The weapons of the men could not hold the enemy, but it would give the others time to scatter like frightened birds deeper into the forest. The men would do their part, and so would he, who was almost a man. Unable to sleep now, he remained at his post, keeping an eye on the road and the markers he had placed there, while his teeth chattered in the chilly dawn

A bright red sun peered cautiously through the mist and the heavy clouds, where the large dirt road wound precariously through the low wooded hills. Soon the mist was gone, and the clouds parted, a vibrant, ever increasing stream of sunlight turning night into day. In a few moments the roar of heavy diesel engines echoed among the hills and a huge cloud of dust billowed into the chilly air, rising even far above the highest hills. The sounds came closer, building to a mighty cresendo, as the lead vehicle, an American M-48 tank, emerged from the silhouette of the closest hills.

This was the monent the boy had waited for. he sprang from his hiding place and ran along the road toward that massive monster, halting well before the first mine, waving his hands frantically into the air. The Lieutenant ordered his driver to halt, immediately reporting the situation to his company commander a few miles away. Four of the five tanks pointed their turrets toward the edge of the forest on both sides of the road, their gunners nervously searching the impenetrable shadows among the towering trees for signs of enemy activity.

While the Americans were waiting for instructions, the boy began to dig at the spot where he had observed the first mine being planted. From the safety of his heavily armored hull, the gunner of the lead tank observed the boy through his periscope. The brown skinned youth reminded him of his young brother back in Mississippi, and for a brief moment, he thought of of past fishing trips and carefree summer days near the river.

Suddenly his periscope was blinded by a violent explosion, and sson the dust from it drifted through the open commander's hatch above and to his rear. When it had cleared, there was no sign of the boy

At the sound of the explosion, the gunners opened up with their machine guns, peppering the dense shadows at the edge of the forest, watching slender leaves of bamboo dancing to their tune in the early morning sun.

Within minutes, men from the unit's engineer element arrived at the scene, found the remaining mines and disarmed them safely. For the rest of that journey, the men with their mine sweepers walked cautiously in front of the column, and two hours passed before the armored column reached its destination safely, though far behind schedule.

The army captain sat quietly as the village chief of the tiny settlement near that road told his story. The chief wanted to get a posthumous American military medal for the dead boy, and turned down the captain's offer of monetary compensation for his death. The captain had a small fund, from which he could pay the relatives of those Montagnard villagers who died helping the Americans. At first, he was reluctant to offer payment, since the amount was so small as to be almost an insult for the great loss suffered by their family members. Then he realized that these people had so very little, that even this tiny amount of money would be important to them.

The chief had asked for military training for his village defenders from the American Mobile Advisory Team just down that contested road, and the chief advisor had come to visit with the chief to assess the situation.

His jeep was parked right outside the village chief's house, like all of the dwellings in that area, built on stilts five feet above the ground. During a break in their conversation, one of the village elders entered into the semi-darkness of the building, waving a wallet in his hand, and offering it respectfully to the American officer.

The village chief explained: He found the children playing with it just now. "Please have the owner of that wallet count the money inside, so that we can locate anything which might be missing. They are still too young to understand the value of money, but we will make sure that you leave with all of the money with which you came."

The captain handed to the wallet to the sergeant sitting beside him, and he assured the chief that all of the military payment certificates were still there. There was enough in the wallet to buy food for the entire village for a month, but the mountain tribesmen were a strange lot, not having been sufficiently exposed to western culture. They never lied, and even the thought of stealing was abhorrent to them.