MY BACKYARD

Basic Principles

Certain basic principles, as old as warfare itself, must be followed to get the optimum benefit from boobytraps. Knowledge of these principles will aid the soldier, not only in placing boobytraps expertly, but in detecting and avoiding those of the enemy.

Digging for bones. I envisioned an underground cavern as our new clubhouse. Searching for bones in the backyard. We would reconstruct the skeletons of dinosaurs in the center of our cave. Bones of dinosaurs, fossilized ribcages, teeth—white claws. The bones would be positioned like a museum piece, frozen in a predacious stance, gleaming from the flames of a half-dozen torches.

Plastic battle tanks dug themselves in—they were well camouflaged. A platoon of plastic men were expertly crawling behind a mound of dirt. They shifted back and forth as they moved, their timeless fighting stances defining each man: grenadier, rifleman, bazooka-man, machine-gunner, dead-guy. Dirt clod projectiles filled the skies, knocking the tanks over; some bursting with a distinctive plastic crack. A firestorm of stove top matches rained down upon the men. Grenadiers, rigid in the middle of an overhand pitch, were usually the first ones to go, their legs bubbled and seeped into gooey pools that hardened into the dirt. And the survivors were flicked over by the nail of my finger. Little god...

Boobytraps supplement minefields by increasing their obstacle value. They add to the confusion of the enemy, inflict casualties, destroy materiel, and lower morale. Boobytraps are usually laid by specialists. The ingenious use of local resources and standard items is important in making effective boobytraps. They must be simple in construction, readily disguised, and deadly.

Remember that dead squirrel we found? You know, the one my cat killed behind the garage? We placed it in a Buster Brown shoe box and buried it by your mailbox in the front yard. We imagined the skeleton, its tiny bones glued together like the model of the stegosaurus that I had on my dresser. Two weeks passed before we dug it up to check it out. We couldn't believe it. "What a gyp," you said. It still had fur. We were so disappointed, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. The squirrel looked the same. And then it began to move. Its belly turned and twisted and you began to scream. I watched as a thick green worm poked through its skin.

Procedures

Like all activities involving explosives, boobytrapping is dangerous only because of mistakes men make. Prescribed methods must be followed explicitly in the interest of personal safety and overall effectiveness.

MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE! Get up! Get down! Get up! Get down! Too slow! Get up! Get down! Get up! Too slow! Get down! Gimmee some more pushups! Get up! Get down! You’re fuckin’ pissin’ me the fuck off. Keep your head and eyes to the front, fucker. Don't lock your knees! Fucking maggots! I SAID KEEP YOUR HEAD AND EYES TO THE FRONT, SHITHEAD! Everybody down! Gimmee some more push-ups!

Overburdened bodies stumbled out of the aircraft, into the black night air, flapping in the wind like rag dolls, jerked and spinning, twisted and swinging under their parachutes. The horizon rocking silently—eyes straining for the ground—coming closer. Bodies thumping in clumps as parachutes deflate and softly swish their silk along the grass. The crickets. Equipment unsnapped, unbuckled metal clicking in the dark, slipping silent, machine guns assembled, we crawl into the night.

Firing Devices

Many triggering devices are available for use in boobytraps. They include fuzes, igniters, and firing devices. All U.S. standard firing devices have the following advantages over improvisations; established supply, speed of installation, dependability of functioning, resistance to weather, and safety.

I could tell you how it feels.

I could tell you how it feels.

I could tell you how it feels listening to the black of a jungle with an M16 tied to my belt—my knees shaking because I thought I heard something move. The blackness. Listening to a jungle that screams at night. There’s monsters in there and I know I heard something move. And I slipped—slipped into the muddy black.

A     All the way.

I     In the sky.

R     Rock steady.

B     Born to kill.

O     On the go.

R     Rough and tough.

N     Never quit.

E     Every day . . . all the way.

I traced the stars that outlined their matted hair, the creases and shadows of their cotton white dresses. A satellite appeared in the eastern sky—my eyes followed the phantom machine as it wandered behind the trees and slipped away...

Highways, Trails, and Paths

Boobytraps used along roads are a great help in slowing down enemy traffic, especially if they are laid in and around other obstructions. Those placed on paths and trails are excellent against raiding parties that must operate under cover of darkness.

I'm not sure if I killed anyone. We laid mines along the trail between the Rio Coco and Rio Patuca. It wasn't my idea. But we laid the mines and left them there. There was a report of a border crossing and we laid the mines. We were stranded, you know, fifteen of us and a squad of Honduran regulars. Nobody wanted to talk to us on the radio. So we laid the mines. At night we talked about what we'd do if we heard the mines go off, how we'd escape. The platoon sergeant told us where we should set up the machine guns. I thought about how I'd jump into the river and swim away.

Entrances

Curiosity prompts a soldier to investigate hurriedly an interesting building in his path. Women, loot, or mere inquisitiveness may be the motive. His rush to be the first inside makes all entrances excellent spots for boobytraps. For the foolish, a rigging connected to the front door, side door, or back doors may be sufficient. But for the experienced soldier, who may carefully seek entry to the basement first and then try to clear the building story by story, careful and ingenious effort may be required.

I remember your house—on the corner of Brentwood and Fordham. It was a dark brown ranch style house surrounded by a rock garden. A wagon wheel poked out of the stagnant desert of a yard. I hated that house. You wanted to show me something that was hidden in the basement closet. I thought that maybe it was a machine-gun brought back from the war, or better yet, a Japanese skull like the one my grandfather had. Tom Duller's brother came back from Vietnam with pictures of guys with their heads chopped off and a Vietnamese finger in a box. I couldn't wait.

We went through the kitchen and then down into the cellar. It had been converted into a family room complete with a pool table. A pool table! I scrambled down the stairs and up to the side of the table pulling the balls from the pockets.

"You've got a pool table!"

"Hey don't touch it. I'm not allowed."

"What? To play with the balls?"

"My dad won't allow me to play with the pool table," you said. "Put the balls back."

I rolled the balls into the pockets reluctantly. I always wanted a pool table. "Well, what were you going to show me?"

"Hang on."

You opened the closet. There were no windows in the room. The darkness was cut by a Coca Cola lamp that hung over the pool table. You disappeared into the black—and then yanked on the pull-string closet light. I watched your movements. You fiddled with something and then brought it out.

You placed the jar on the pool table under the light. It was a large pickle jar, round and fat to our nine-year-old hands. We rotated the jar in front of us slowly. I was speechless. In the jar, suspended in crystal clear liquid was a baby. Shadows of its bones were visible through its translucent skin, its arms held in front of its body like a little boxer.

"It's my brother," you said.

"He's so small," was all I could say.

"It's my brother, he came out of my mom."

I studied the baby as we slowly turned the jar under the light.

"My dad's a doctor. He told me this is my brother. My parents had him before I was born."

I looked at the lid. "Have you ever touched it?" I asked.

"No—I'm not allowed."

The black earth turned toward the white moon. The horizon glistened as the lunar face appeared in all its frigidity. I studied the spectral sphere that rose with the stars; its eyes, its slack open mouth, its canted stare cooled the earth; the desert nights were cold. I listened to my radio, a small short wave with a broken antennae. I would drift between the channels, letting my fingers slowly turn the plastic dial as I lay on my back watching the moon. Orchestral melodies of Islam merged with chants from the Koran. And the disembodied voices painted the stars with their wavering tongues and shifting harmonies. I wondered how many people were dying tonight as the rockets impacted on the horizon.

They staggered towards us waving and smiling as if we...and I fired into them and then you fired and I fired again and so did you. They vanished into dust and smoke and the driver gunned the engine driving them over.

I saw you in a dream last night. We were riding bikes through the creek—the one behind Safeway. The same place where we found the dead dog, remember? I dared you to pick it up and you turned it over with a stick. In the dream, you were swinging the stick at me. You hit me in the face. "Blue, blue, blue," you said. I don’t know what this means. When I woke up, I thought about trying to find you—looking you up in some telephone directory but I don’t know where you live. I need to talk to you. I don’t even know if you are alive.

Rules of Conduct

a. Keep in constant practice by inspecting and studying all known boobytrap methods and mechanisms.

b. Develop patience. A careless act may destroy you and others as well.

c. Remember that knowledge inspires confidence.

d. Let only one man deal with a boobytrap. Keep all others out of danger.

e. If in doubt, get help from an expert.

f. Never group together when there is danger.

g. Be suspicious of every unusual object.

h. Regardless of nationality, consider every enemy a ruthless, cunning and ingenious killer.

Inspirations for this piece.

Back to Home