Introduction:

Hi,

Glad you decided to drop by my blog. I enjoy story telling and making up stories. Therefore, I decided to start this blog to share some of my stories with anyone who may be interested. If you enjoy what you read here, please tell others about it. I promise to never post a story here which you would be ashamed to read to your children (or be ashamed if someone caught you reading it).



Blessings,

C. Bowman

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Huey Rescue

I was hunkered down as low to the ground as my hundred and eighty pounds could get. I was scared and sweating like it was July in Georgia. And praying, hard. Only this wasn’t Georgia. The tall dried grasses of the African dry season blew back and forth with the wind. Here and there were shots being fired as individual men fought to stay alive in this confusing mess of an attack on the terrorist encampment.
It had looked so cut and dry in the briefing back at base. We would fly into the LZ in two waves of two flights each. The outdated but efficient Huey helicopters would drop off their eight man loads and then clear the area and circle somewhere to the south waiting for our call to come back in and extract us. It was supposed to be over in just minutes as we would drop out of the choppers and charge across the clearing into the small village made up of eight or so mud block buildings, all small and rectangular in build. They would be caught by surprise and it would end quickly. We knew there were about four or five of the terrorists hiding in this village, after conducting their raid to bring down the communications tower south of the nearby highway.
Only the reality of what was happening didn’t match the carefully laid plans from our previous briefing. The LZ turned out to be about four feet deep in dried grasses which would cut a man if he carelessly broke one and let the broken part slide through his hand. The ground was littered with small fist sized rocks and some bigger, which rolled quickly as your weight went down on them. And some few short years before, the field had actually been someone’s farm and was deeply furrowed. These furrows had been hidden by the now thick grasses and we were caught stumbling over them.  It was slow going for one other reason as well. The enemy had a light machine gun of some kind sitting there in the village and it was steadily cutting the grasses down as the enemy attempted to keep us pinned out there in the heat, dust, rocks, and prayers. And there was a lot of all of it, especially in my vicinity.    
Occasionally the ones manning the gun would shout insults or something at us, hoping to see someone’s head come up to check out what was meant by the shouting. Anytime one of us attempted to crawl forward the odd movement of the grasses we were pushing through gave our position away and the gunner would zero in on that area for a few seconds sending waves of bullets bouncing off the rocks in every direction. It was a mess, plain and simple. We were stuck and needed help in a big way to avoid the numerous serious injuries a straight forward charge into the village would bring us. It came in an unexpected way. A way which left many who had been begging the Lord for help saying, “Thankyou, Jesus!” 
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The two Hueys came swooping in from over the hilltop to our right and immediately seemed to have misjudged their landing zone. Both of them in a well coordinated display of superb flying ability  dropped straight down almost onto the small mud block buildings of the village and their turning main rotors immediately kicked up a huge cloud of debris and dust and the village simply disappeared from our view inside the man-made dust storm.
The Captain quickly rallied us forward and as we stumblingly jogged forward the first few men had to cover their own faces to protect their eyes from the debris storm flying out of the circling dust cloud. Both Hueys suddenly lifted quickly straight up into the air high above us and then dropping their noses they shot of away from the village. The machine gunners had abandoned their exposed position leaving their gun in place. Undoubtedly, they had run to protect themselves from the flying debris and taken refuge in the nearest hut. That probably wasn’t much help as half the huts in the village no longer had roofs over them.
All the terrorists were found hiding, some under grain bags trying to shield themselves from the whirring devils which had descended on them. And all of them had dropped whatever weapons they had, in their desperate attempt to protect themselves. Their capture happened quickly and without anymore fighting. Aside from the five men we had been looking for, the village appeared to have been abandoned by its former occupants, no doubt terrified to stay when the terrorists moved in.
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Of course, being soldiers, we couldn’t exactly tell the whole truth of the matter. Being saved by a set of hovering Hueys doesn’t sound heroic or manly. So the official description reported to the national papers told of a “multi-national anti terrorism force fighting a determined battle and finally overcoming huge and almost impossible odds to capture the hard fighting enemy force of raiders”.  However, all of us who had benefited from the pilots’ help made sure those boys got all the steak and cold cokes they could hold, free of course. “After all,” explained our sergeant “Next time we might REALLY need their help.”
The End
(I have never been part of such a raid as this, though during my time in the Army many years ago, I did witness a Huey helicopter pilot flush an attacker or two out of hiding under some trees by doing just such a thing. Those poor boys were so blinded by dust and trash that they ran into tree trunks trying to flee. Of course, it was just a war game played at night, but I’ve never forgotten it. And no, I was not one of them.) 
CB

Monday, January 16, 2012

An African Squirrel

I saw in Africa,
A cute little squirrel run up a tree,
Maybe a sight in the distance he wanted to see.
There in Africa,
A cute little squirrel ran up a tree,
And there posed a picture just for me.
Clint Bowman

Saturday, January 7, 2012

The Dawn Breaks

Note: This isn't a short story. And I'm not a poet. But this morning, I am missing old friends. God bless'em all! cb



The dawn breaks,
The bulbuls sing their “Time, To, Get up!” song.
The fluttering, flapping doves’ wings signal,
Another round of sorting positions,
Along the eave over the banana tree shaded bird bath.

The dawn breaks,
Night watchmen head home,
Calling morning's greetings and sharing the news,
Thankful another night has passed.

The dawn breaks,
Young girls carry buckets of water,
For a morning bath while,
Little brothers drag limbs for firewood,
For morning tea.

The dawn breaks,
Family prayers are said and father’s tea is served,
Uniformed children leave for school,
Nigeria has awakened.

(For all of us who were there and sometimes miss it. Jan. 2012)
cb