A Green Beret's True Story of His Jack Lawson with Sully de Fontaine

14
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Entering the village, Sully began systematically searching for survivors.
An eerie silence filled this once-bustling village in the remote
Belgian Congo jungle.
Only the drone of the Beaver broke the silence as the fixed-wing
plane rapidly gained altitude. The pilot and Sully had seen the
bodies littering the streets and the smoldering buildings on their
flyover before they landed.
It was high noon and the heat, humidity and smell were almost
unbearable. But Sully pressed on. He searched building-by-building
and room-by-room. His British safari suit turned a shade darker
from the torrents of sweat pouring off him. It gave this lanky man a
look much different than that of John Huston in the movie, “White
Hunter, Black Heart.” But this was not a movie set where a change
of clothes and a cool glass of water were part of the routine. It was
the reality of Africa in the summer of 1960, a summer of terror that
had spread like a windblown grass fire.
Sully was neither the White Hunter nor a man with a black
heart. The tremendous thirst that gnawed at him every second was
by his years of training an almost nonexistent thought in his mind.
Also pushed aside was the urge to vomit from the overwhelming
smell of the decomposing dead that would have made most people
throw up.
The perspiration spread further, darkening more of his beige
safari suit as he cautiously searched the village. His sweat was not
just from the heat and his exertion, but from the ever-present subconscious
fear he felt of a confrontation with the rebels who had recently
ravaged this village. He knew he would be vastly outnumbered
and would be on his own in an ambush.
There would be no one to come to his aid if this happened. He
could only do his best to escape. His submachine gun, a pistol and
two grenades gave him some comfort. In the back of his mind, he
knew if he were captured that his death would not be quick and it
would be painful beyond comprehension.