Finding Home

By Boontak Ko Chitta

American Air Force pilot John Stevenson crashes in Laos

in 1972, on his last mission before returning home. While

trying to hike back to the Military base, he receives a nearly

fatal snakebite and only survives thanks to kindness of a

local fisherman.

It's a twist of fate that changes the course of John'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kocheetah.LLC
• Release date: Nov 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952302336

Boontak Ko Chitta

Laos borders Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Love and Peace are abundant." Burma, and China. The story is set during the Vietnam War. I spent about nineteen years in Laos as a kid growing up there. Some of the experiences you read in the book are from my own experiences as I lived there. The story in the book is also located in the town where I was born. The reason I write this book is I just want to share my experience and tell the story of how I grew up to my kids and friends. I came to the United States in July 1987. When I was twelve years old, I was a monk for two and a half years in the Buddhist temple. Hope you enjoy reading my book.

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Copyright © 2020 by Boontak K. Chitta.

Kocheetah.LLC

The characterizations in this book are depicted through the eyes of a child 5-13 years old. We have kept the portrayals of people and events as true to his recollections as possible.

ISBN: 978-1-952302-32-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-952302-33-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020921632

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

Chapter One

A vibrant green jungle and the yellow gleam of sunlight through fog is what John Stevenson saw the morning his life changed.

He would have appreciated the beauty, if only his situation was different. If only he hadn’t spent the last seven years in the hell of war. Faces haunted his memories, and screams, and images of his own hands doing things he never thought they would do. He shook his head and blocked it out as he always did, and tried to think of home.

After such a long time in and around war-torn Vietnam, the idea of a comfortable house in a quiet American town seemed more of a distant dream than something that could be real, even though that was his own life before the war. Now, thanks to President Nixon’s order to reduce U.S. troops in the area by seventy thousand, John was heading home at last.

John. He kept walking, but grunted in acknowledgement of his mission partner.

Hey, Johnny. You’re a machine, man. This pace is killing me.

Suck it up. Trevon was a relative newcomer to the war, and not in the best shape. This was their first mission together, although they’d known each other for a little while. John tried to be patient with him, but after several hours of walking and the stress of trying to be quiet and avoid running into the enemy, his mood grew sour. Every step felt like treading barefoot on jagged gravel, and his tight stomach growled in hunger.

Sure we can’t pause for a minute?

Keep on walking, bud. We gotta make it back to camp, and then we’ll be going home.

One last mission. Trevon muttered a curse. Just one more, they say, and of course it’s the one that goes wrong.

John didn’t reply, but he agreed with the sentiment. They’d been sent out to bomb the Hồ Chí Minh Trail, their final mission before heading back to America. Hit by anti-aircraft fire, they crashed about fourteen miles from Luang Prabang in Laos. Neither of them were seriously injured, but now a long hike lay between them and the base camp. John’s mind wandered to memories of hiking in America, long ago and far away, where the sound of approaching strangers didn’t carry the threat of death.

The sun was high and thirst was becoming an issue when John stopped and listened. He thought he could hear water, and an echoing of the jungle sounds that sounded like a large open space. Trevon caught up and hunched over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

I think the river is just over this next rise, John said. Good, then we aren’t lost. They climbed up the small slope and stood overlooking the Mekong River, which was several hundred yards wide at this point. John couldn’t see any other people near the river or any boats, but he knew the possibility of running into the Laos navy. They approached slowly, remaining hidden in the bushes, and crawled the last several yards to the edge of the water through tall grass.

After drinking from his cupped hands for a minute, John turned on his side to reach for his empty canteen. He thought he caught a glimpse of movement in the tall grass near his feet, but he stared for a moment and didn’t see anything.

He turned back to the water, opened up the canteen to fill it, and then felt a painful prick and a burning sensation in his leg just above his boot. His heart raced and he gritted his teeth. Turning over again, he caught a glimpse of a snake disappearing into the grass.

Trevon, John hissed. A few feet away, Trevon paused while screwing the lid onto his canteen. Something wrong?

Snake just bit me.

Dammit, John! He felt the venom spreading, and his vision blurred. After seven years of war, why did his last day have to be the one when his luck ran clean out?

Bounthan paddled his little boat across the river with a basket by his feet that he made of bamboo the previous evening. Fishing had been slow in the morning so he hoped to find better luck in the deep, shady holes on the far side. He would need to fish for at least a few more hours in order to feed his children, and he also needed to gather some herbs to help his bad back.

As he headed for a section of the bank where he knew he could find the herbs, he saw a glint of something shiny in the grass and looked