My buddy, Tommy L., a door gunner in Viet Nam for two tours, told me this story…”We were at a forward camp awaiting orders to do medical runs if needed. It was about eleven at night. Most of the guys were in these large tents with wood floors and canvas roofs, drinking beer, playing chess, writing letters. Our duties were patient transport, so, we were pretty relaxed. The sounds of artillery and mortars could be heard off and on, but not that close to our camp, so, that was cool too. Now, it’s jungle dude. Heavy, thick jungle. It’s why they would spray agent orange. To defoliate. And boy, did it. One pass from some low flying bombers spraying it and instant dead area. No one knew about the repercussions on humans until a lot later, or, they just didn’t give a crap. So, everyone is also just in shorts, skivvies or no shirt. Medical choppers are a lot different then troop copters. People were always glad to see us...These tents had four entrances since they were square in shape. Each entrance had wooden steps and a cover to pull down to block the light for snipers. We were forward, but, it was so hot, the two apertures away from the jungle were rolled up and tied off to let some air in. It was hot. Hotter then you can even imagine, even that late at night. And muggy? You would sweat taking a shower. One of the guys at our table volunteered to go for some more beers. About twenty other men and a couple of nurses were scattered around the other long tables filling these giant tents. Some music was playing at low volume from a small radio. All the lights were dimmed. You could pull them down on chains, but no one did. It was hot enough already. As I was shuffling the cards and getting ready to deal another hand of poker, our beer guy came back in across from us, camp side since the tent opening was clear. He froze all of a sudden. He had a look on his face that said it all. DON’T MOVE. He was stopped in mid-step. At the table, all conversation stopped. As it did at the other tables who noticed his odd behaviour. Next to me was this odd ball who wore his sunglasses constantly. Even in his rack. I could see in the reflection off his glasses, something moving right behind my head. Actually, a bit higher then my head. It was a snake’s head. Swaying back and forth. No one moved. No one talked. Just the radio made a noise. The snake had slithered in out of the jungle and through a gap in the canvas doorway behind me. Another man came in through the other open doorway. At this, I could see the snake’s hood shoot open. It was a King Cobra. Had to have been fifteen or twenty foot long since its head was over six foot off the floor, easy. I started to sweat so bad, it was cascadiing down out of my armpits and crotch like mini rivers. I’m not lying. Like rivers. I was frozen solid as a rock. The new man froze, too, as he picked up on everyone’s odd behaviour. Weaving back and forth, the hood went down, and the snake was gone. In the blink of an eye…
