"The Mission" A Ghost Story By Robert Siebers

It was the summer of 1976 the jungle was teeming. Insects buzzed and whined past my face and ears. Never ending streams of sweat ran down my neck and trickled from beneath the ball cap I was wearing. The humidity in the night air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Animals and birds chirped, screamed and growled as we slowly etched our way along the narrow pathway the local Indians called a trail. The column of soldiers moved silently through the dark of the night. All ears listening intently for the slightest sounds that might be in contrast with the jungle chorus. Our area of operations was in the south of Panama just north of the Colombian border. Our targets were high ranking members of a subversive group working with the cooperation one of the large drug cartels. The group was known to be operating out of a small village just south of the Darien Gap. The mission was simple move across the border under the cover of darkness, infiltrate the village and terminate the targets. Our return trip was to be by helicopter in two days time. We were about a mile from the Colombian border when we first heard it. Echoing through the jungle night air was the sound of voices, laughter and music. I signaled my point man to slow the pace but continue to move forward. Step by nerve racking step we crept closer to the sounds of a party. In another minute we could see the lights streaming from the windows of a large structure resembling a French colonial hotel. Needless to say we were confused at first. Our briefing earlier in the day made no mention of a hotel or any other habitable structure in the area. Silently I slid back into the brush for cover to check my map and compass. Turning on my red lense flashlight I surveyed the map carefully, took a compass reading and checked my watch. "What the hell is this place," I asked quietly? There was no way around it, the building was directly in our path. I marked the location on the map for future reference and made a mental note to stop for a closer look on the way back since our pick up point was only a mile to the north. I then crept slowly to the front of the column Chavez, my point man, whispered quietly to me, "What is this place? I've been this way before and I don't remember seeing any resorts here." I shook my head slowly indicating that I had no idea either. We stayed in place for a few minutes watching and listening. People moved freely back and forth past the open windows as if they had no cares in the world. The smell of cooking foods and the clinking clattering sound of glasses traveled across the clearing. Finally I directed Chavez to move out and pointed in a direction that would have us skirt around the hotel compound near the edge of the jungle. About midway across the compound an elderly gentleman stepped out on the veranda and lit a cigar blowing out a billow of smoke. The damp jungle air caused the smoke to linger in place for a few moments illuminated by the interior lights before dissipating. We froze in place and quietly waited for the man to return to the party inside before moving on. Within minutes we were back on the trail and moving south again. Three hours later the team was spread out across a hilltop overlooking our objective, the quiet little village below. Since our intelligence did not provide the exact location of the targets we would have to spend the day watching the village. From our positions of concealment we watched the comings and goings of the villagers and their guests until we determined which houses the terrorists were residing in. Throughout the day I carefully formulated a plan of attack that would complete our mission without causing collateral damage to the locals. An open fire fight during the day would only draw too much attention and bring reinforcements to the aid of the terrorists. The attack would have to be done at night and quietly. Shortly after midnight we crept into the village and completed our mission. We left the village on the opposite side of the perimeter from which we had entered. Even with the most well thought out and executed plans sometimes the unexpected happens. In this case we came face to face with two members of the subversive group who just happened to be returning from a patrol of their own. A short but deadly firefight ensued and both of the enemy were terminated. Unfortunately one of our team members was badly wounded. While our medic applied immediate first aid we constructed a litter for our wounded comrade. After securely placing him on the litter we resumed our trek through the jungle to the designated pickup point. About two hours before daylight I stopped the group at the perimeter of the resort hotel once again. Having to take turns carrying the litter with a wounded man had not only slowed us down but also left us physically exhausted. It appeared as though the party had never stopped; people were still laughing and the music was playing across the jungle air.Our wounded man was not doing well, he needed immediate attention and the constant jostling from the litter wasn't helping at all. At that point I made a decision to seek help for him at the resort compound. Perhaps there would be a doctor present who could give him the medical help he needed so he would make it to the pickup point. I left my men and cautiously approached the hotel alone. As I stepped onto the large veranda the front door quickly opened and out stepped an elderly gentleman in a white Panama suit with a cane in his right hand. He was a large man with gray hair and a neatly manicured handlebar mustache. "May I help you soldier," he inquired of me? "Yes sir I have an injured man that needs medical attention badly," I answered, " Is there a doctor present?" "Why yes indeed there is," said the old gentleman, "Bring your men inside. There is no need in keeping them out in the bushes all night." It didn't strike me as odd at the time, but later I realized that he spoke as if he already knew we were there. I motioned for my men to come inside and then waited for them as they carried the litter onto the large porch. A small group of people came out onto the porch and gathered around our wounded man voicing concerns over is condition. "I'm a doctor," said a neatly trimmed man in a black suit, "Step back and let me have a look at him." After a quick examination the doctor insisted that we bring him inside and into the light where he could better work on him. After moving the litter inside to the "sitting room" as they called it,I instructed two of my squad to stand watch at both ends of the compound in the event we had been followed. The doctor brought out an old black leather medical bag and went to work. First he removed a small bottle of clear liquid and handed it to my wounded man. "Here drink this son it will help control the pain," he said softly. The doctor worked quickly and expertly stopping the bleeding and applying stitches before putting on the bandage. "That should hold him together until you get back to your unit. He'll sleep for awhile," said the doctor with a slight smile. A maid wearing a black uniform and lace apron brought a tray with drinks into the sitting room and offered us something cool to drink. My men and I sipped our drinks socially seating ourselves in some of the numerous chairs and recliners which filled the large room. Fresh iced lemonade, very nice. Pretty soon we were the center of attention and conversing easily with the hotel patrons as we sat back in our chairs. As I gazed about the room I couldn't help but notice the quality of the antiques which adorned the room and how refined it all looked. It appeared that the patrons were having a turn of the century ball as all of the ladies wore elegant evening dresses and the men were in suits. People mingled freely and conversed in moderate tones. Some of the men smoked large cigars as they as they nurtured their evening cocktails. It was a surreal setting like something from a Hemingway novel. For some reason the existence of the hotel was never mentioned by myself or anyone else. At some point we must have fallen asleep because it was the radio that brought me back to reality. "Charlie 1..2...this is Foxtrot 2..9er...over..", crackled the radio. I opened my eyes and was accosted by the brightness of the sun. Looking around I was trying to get oriented when the radio crackled again, "Charlie 1..2...this Foxtrot 2..9er...do you copy? Are you guys still with us?...over" I found myself sitting with my back against an old wall that was overgrown with vines in the middle of what appeared to be the ruins of a very old building. As is the usual case when the jungle reclaims its space,trees and various other forms of growth had taken over. I could see all of my men sleeping soundly scattered about in different places throughout the structure. On a litter was our wounded man his shirt half opened revealing a fresh white bandage where his wound was. I stood to my feet and walked to the radio; picking up the microphone I responded to the call. "This is Charlie 1..2...over...how far out are you?...over," I said." This is Foxtrot 2..9er...We are about 20 mikes from your pick up over...Do you copy?...Over..." "Roger Foxtrot 2..9er...be advised we have wounded..we are about one click from our pick up...Over.." "Roger that Charlie 1..2...Out.." The conversation on the radio brought my men out of their slumber with confused expressions. Where was the hotel and where had the guests gone? We gathered our gear and prepared to move out. No one spoke; there was no need to. We all had the same question and each of us was hesitant to ask it. "What the hell happened?" "Let's hit it guys we've got a ways to go yet and our ride is on the way," I said firmly. Two of the men picked up the litter and our medic examined our injured man's wound. "I didn't do this," he said softly, "This was done by a real doctor." We all turned to look at him and only nodded. "Hey Sarge check this out," called my point man. I walked over to the end of the old fallen down building where he was standing and he pointed to a cornerstone which read, "Hotel Paradisio 1906." "This can't be," I uttered softly in disbelief. After a moment I regained my composure and gave the order to move out. The last mile of our mission was quiet to say the least with each man keeping his own counsel. We made it to our pick up and were back at the base by the end of the day. During the debriefing I included all of the details of the mission excluding our brief stay at the Hotel Paradisio. To this day I'm still not sure what happened or why. I could say that it was a case of mass hysteria or combat fatigue. Or I might even call it a dream. Who knows what happened for sure. But I do know for certain, a doctor saved the life of one of my team members that night. For that I am truly grateful. When we were exhausted some very kind people gave us rest and refreshment when we needed it. I've not had an occasion to pass that way since and I'm not sure if I would want to. The jungle is a strange place filled with unexplainable things. This is one of those things that I cannot explain. But if you ever find yourself in the Panamanian jungle tired and injured listen closely for the music, perhaps you may spend an evening at the Hotel Paradisio. Believe it or not! "The Mission" by Robert Siebers All rights reserved May 23, 2012 This story cannot be reprinted without the express permission of the author