Ruckerson, Charles
Ruckerson closed his eyes but when he did, he saw little white spots everywhere.
Somewhat alarmed, he opened them again.
That’s that then. Keeping his eyes open was definitely better.
Despite not being able to close his eyes, he felt rather alive on that third post-raid night.
He was doing all right all things considered, and after eating the Baker team's rations for the past three days, he felt better already.
His hand was paralysed in part from being handcuffed too tight for an entire night.
Charles Alan Ruckerson, nicknamed 'Rack' wasn’t even in the military but a civilian contractor. He ended up in Vietnam because he was a very capable mechanic and they’d brought him there to do the maintenance on an oil line.
One day, while accompanying a shipment of pipelines to the outskirts of Saigon, he was kidnapped. It was Saigon for fuck’s sake, not just any old city whatsoever.
Kidnapped by some common criminals who then, in turn, sold him to the Vietcong.
Once captured, for some unexplainable reason, the Vietcong were convinced he was an 'advisor’ or a military counsellor.
In other words, they thought he worked for the CIA and the more he denied it, the more they were convinced otherwise.
The night had all started with them hitting his arms and legs, with bats.
Then they made him lay down on the ground while they tied him up and after putting an ant nest on his belly, they just left him there all night long.
The hardest part that night was dealing with the dark.
He knew fully well that those little creatures weren’t going to stop just because he couldn’t see them.
Then, at one point when his tiredness finally got the best of him, Charles began to feel things.
It seemed like the ants moving over him in waves. As if, by working together, they transformed into something else.
Whenever it happened, he would scream and shake making the feeling suddenly disappear.
When one night he accidentally woke the wrong Vietcong up, some of the guards actually got up and came down to beat him because of all the noise.
After the ants, came the electricity.
He’d never forget that.
Ruckerson let those memories fade away in his mind.
He rolled over on his the pile of leaves he was laying on and squished a bug on his cheek.
That was no ant – he thought to himself.
That third night in the jungle, before bed, Charles had asked the tall, African-American guy (Berry), for some insect-repellent, and the guy had given it to him on the condition that he not use too much and only on his face.
Then, without anyone noticing, Rack asked and got some more from the team's doctor (Messner), rubbing on a second dose.
That was, in his opinion, the only way he’d manage to get any sleep.
At least a little shut eye anyways.
Charles laid back down on his pallet and more memories flooded back to him.
After the ant episode came the electric shock torture.
That was impossible to forget too.
Recalling the electric shocks pained him but he wasn’t able to get it out of his mind.
After cutting the wires from a disassembled lamp, the VCs had stripped him naked.
Then, while one wire was on a testicle, they would, at specific time intervals, they’d touch the tip of his penis with the other.
Just the thought of it all made Rack shake in horror, like when a dentist drills your tooth.
Yet, he’d survived that too.
Of course, he’d wondered whether it would affect his ability to have children, but nevertheless, he’d survived the electrocutions too.
Then, a week later, while picturing Marilyn Monroe as she sung 'happy birthday', he had his first erection after the electric shock torture. At least that confirmed everything was still in working order.
The only problem was his hand but it wasn’t that bad.
In all actuality, it could’ve all ended up far worse than it actually had.
Everything after was run of the mill, ordinary beatings.
Plain old kicks, punches, lashes, buckets full of cold water or even piss for that matter. They banged his head against walls and even put cigarettes out all over him, including places like under his armpits. They beat him with bamboo sticks, walked all over him and even took photos of it all as they stood on him barefoot.
For the duration of those months, he’d eaten nothing but some kind of fish soup made with salty water and rice, and in so much pain that he could barely feed himself. They even gave him worms, rats and cockroaches.
The Vietcong are nothing more than fucking animals – he thought.
Rack could feel pins and needles in his legs.
They’re not ants – he told himself quickly.
It’s all in your head.
He turned over on his pallet for the umpteenth time.
It's just an impression. Everything's fine.
Jus hang tough for a few more days and it’ll all be over soon.
He knew exactly what he was going to do the minute he got back to Saigon.
He wouldn’t even go get his stuff from the apartment where he lived before his kidnapping. Nope. He would have gone as fast as he could to the Saigon airport and left Vietnam for good. He’d never have gone back, ever.
It was so close to happening he just knew it.
He could already feel it, right there and only a stone throw away.
At any rate, if anybody could pull it off it would be those very eight guys, who had so courageously attacked that camp.
They had risked their lives for him and he was never going to forget it.
Rack was sure they were almost out of there and it wouldn’t be long at all.
He could do it.
He could feel it.