The Only Spy I Ever Met
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Our neighbor Ken Fischer has told us stories over the years, of characters he has met during his years as a student, teacher, police officer, woodsman, and as a wise and generous observer of humanity. His story this week falls into two of those categories.
By Ken Fischer
It was late, actually early morning about 3. I was making the rounds and looking for nothing in particular as I worked my beat. Usually the only people out were going home after a late night, or those who went to work in the dark: milkmen, pilots, or cops like me.
If I had been at all drowsy, that evaporated in an instant when I was nearly driven off the road by an oncoming truck. He was using half of the travelled portion, but the problem was he had carved it out of the exact middle of Mississippi Avenue. I turned around and stopped him. His name was Wesley.
At first blush he looked like a Charles Manson relative with a Hannibal Lecter smile. I had first-hand knowledge to compare him with Manson since I had been within a few feet of him two years earlier in Los Angeles. This is where the similarity ended. Manson was a zero, and as it turned out Wesley was a hero.
As I knew from his driving he was of course blasted drunk and freely admitted it. He came across as a squirrely little man who looked like he slept on a tree branch. He was just a bit older than me. He was calm and very cooperative and seemed really at peace with anything to come. Most people in this fix would not be. He was more interesting the longer the contact. He was dying.
Backstory: the closest I had ever come to knowing or relating to a “spy” was the story of my uncle Bill who was guarding the East Coast shipyards during World War One. He spotted a figure on a warship deck during late hours, challenged him and wound up shooting the man, a German saboteur. He got a medal. His brothers in the trenches of France were less impressed, as Bill ate and slept comfortably stateside during the war.
Fast Forward to Vietnam. Prior to the Navy Seals, special operations were often conducted in guerilla fashion with brave men (and women) stepping up to go solo into enemy territory. They were highly trained and needed all of the survival skills known to man. Equipment was fairly archaic so they were mostly lone rangers behind enemy lines: spies.
They knew that detection would most probably mean death and not a pleasant one. They carried an “L” (for lethal) pill. They also carried abbreviated firearms and gear which fit on their person. Many were accompanied by a medium sized German shepherd, who was also highly trained. The dog would never bark, but convey information to his partner by low growls and a variety of modes which alerted his partner.
Wesley had been one of these heroes in the shadows. I became more interested and fascinated at what he spoke of as we passed the night in booking. The methodology and measures he had to achieve were uncommon. He would be dropped in unsecured areas for normally a 2-week sortie. It would be an area of interest near the Ho Chi Minh Trail or possibly Cambodia to monitor troop deployments and movements. When safe, he would communicate the information via radio to a listening post, then move rapidly and in low profile to avoid detection. He could place the dog in the bush with orders to stay, and he would, quietly and indefinitely. Then Wesley would climb a tree or assume a very low profile in a rice paddy or bush. He had almost been stepped on by enemy soldiers several times.
He ate what he could catch and skin, or what he could secretly remove from a village overnight.
He would go out clad in rags and was schooled in Vietnamese should he have to talk his way out of a contact with a villager. He would then have to distance himself rapidly as a villager during the day was often a Viet Cong fighter at night. Either person would communicate his presence. This would draw immediate attention from the North Vietnamese in the form of a search and destroy unit.
As with many who fought this war, Wesley was exposed to a variety of negative elements. He would be relieved after several years of service to return home to attempt to regain his health.
He would not.
He was past the point of treatment and was self medicating with Jim Beam. He had never been a team guy and worked best alone. He had been recognized by his country for outstanding performance during highly dangerous duty. Most of the soldiers whose lives he had saved would never know him. He would be decorated in a private ceremony with no public record, then sent to Walter Reed Military Hospital for “a cup of coffee.” He would then come home to Colorado to live out his days.
Wesley was one of those guys from our generation that stepped up, did his duty without any fanfare, and in a matter-of-fact manner minimizes the significant danger he faced.
I was privileged to hear and absorb the fascinating tales he told. Mostly positive with one glaring, tragic negative: He was compelled to leave his dog behind. When his tour of duty was over and he rotated back to the States, his true and loyal friend had to stay. It broke his heart. Wesley described him in heroic terms, having saved his life several times by silently alerting to danger when it was imperceptible to his human partner.
I never saw him again.
His case never went to trial. It was continued several times and then I received a routine notice that it was dismissed. That was ok.
Thanks Wesley.
Ken Fischer holds a Master’s Degree in Education from the University of Iowa and was involved in organizing Iowa’s first Law Enforcement Training Academy. He was on the SWAT Team in the Lakewood Police Department, and retired as a Senior Sergeant. A longtime resident of Southern Gables, he is an experienced woodsman and now runs a firewood business.
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