Maggie's Farm

Signs. Can that be added to the above alliteration.

Or would this be more a portent?

We didn’t chopper into the base until almost dark. There was just enough light to find our way to the bunker we were to sleep in that night. We all felt good about that, as we had been out in the bush for a while. Felt good mainly because it meant not standing watch that night. A full night’s sleep was a rare event.
My unit had been tasked to provide security for the engineering battalions who were constructing a portion of the famous or infamous “McNamara’s Line”. This was a hundred yard wide clearing through the jungle. It was parallel and just south of, the DMZ that separated South Vietnam from North. At this stage the work was being done by bulldozer. Nothing more than scraping clear any growth, almost making a road through the jungle.
We woke and saddled up the next morning early. As we filed out of the bunker the line of men made a loop and paused for a moment. I found myself facing Stu. Stu had been a member of my squad for quite some time, but had been recently transferred to a squad that was undermanned. He was the studious and quiet type… his glasses accentuating his intellect. But he was a fish out of water… not meant for the game of war. He did everything asked of him, but this was usually accompanied by a soulful moan of how he did not want to be where he was.
When I noticed him this morning I was immediately concerned. He looked horrible, his face pale and showing visible signs of depression. I could just tell that something was wrong. I asked him how he was, how he was feeling, was he sick. He responding that he was fine physically but just had an overwhelming sense of sadness. That he just felt bad inside. But that he didn’t know how to explain what he felt. At this point the line of men starting moving again and I was unable to continue the conversation. Though I knew something was wrong, as he was not physically ill, there was nothing I could do for him. No way to pull him from the mission and keep him in the rear.
The unit continued to move out past the gate of the base… turning to the right. We were split into columns, with one up the middle and one on either side. My squad drew the left side of the formation, the men spread out as always. We had gone about two hundred yards when we heard the faint pop of NVA rockets. Each type of rocket and artillery had its sonic signature, based on distance, terrain and wind. If you were lucky you would have a second to find a depression, tree stump, anything that might provide some cover. This morning we had half a second or less, but at least enough time to be lunging for the ground when they hit.
As I was getting down my eyes happened to be looking at the exact point where the first rocket impacted… in the midst of the explosion I could see a figure silhouetted in the blinding flash. The barrage continued for a few more minutes… striking emptiness. No one else was hit.
I rose and had the rest of the men do the same… we all still wary and cautious, but after a moment we starting to move out again. I left my column to go see if there was anything I could do for the man I had seen in the explosion. I reached the site and looked down and there was Stu. His eyes stared up at me in lifeless composure, a look of almost ‘surprise’ on his face. His arms and legs gone, nothing but his torso and head left. Somehow, his glasses were still resting, unbroken, on his face. Yes, he had had reason to feel sad that morning. He did know it was the end.

Yes, there are more things, I think.

As I’m absolutely and firmly convinced that on some level, some part of him, did know.

God? Maybe, maybe not.