He remembered Vietnam’s ROE.
“If the people fire on you or run away from you, they are VC. If they are captured or wounded; they are
VC-suspects. He remembered at the time those
were great rules for armed men; lousy rules for unarmed innocents who may just
be present, doing nothing overt. At the
time a black marine observed it was like being in LA when a cop stopped any
black man as a suspect. Same rules, different
country.
Within a minute
of that Viking slaughter, a Roman Kril drove his pilum into another
aggressor-victim and with lethal skill was using a short sword on another
Arnamal trying to save the victim. That
did it; KrutChan had had enough and decided to get her the hell out of this mob.
KrutChan got in
front of Reela and pulled her roughly along by her robe as he used his rifled
bayonet to make a path to get her out of harm’s way; he expected an attack at
any moment. Back in Vietnam he had been
one hundred thirty-five pounds soaking wet in a monsoon. Here he had a bulk weight over two hundred
thirty and he felt a lot more comfortable pushing his weight around. It seemed to be forever that they were
surrounded; but slowly they were respectfully given their space. The men and women in the crowd closest to
Reela were turning their backs, pushing and grunting to get back away from
her. Shouts of, “Let me by...It’s that
four-strike Kril!” was being shouted over and over but having little effect in
the noisy tumultuous din around them.
