Haunting voices.

Warbands usually have a negative connotation, or at least it insinuates a group of unruly, predominantly tribal warriors roaming the countryside in search of trouble; Vietnam was no different in that respect. Many unofficial warbands were formed by Meo Montagnards deep in the hills and forest; others by ethnic Cambodians living in the hot and muggy Mekong Delta. As they were running their separate little wars and, therefore, ostensibly not associated with the US forces present in the country, they were rarely mentioned. The world was oblivious to them unless there was something negative to report. John and Jane Dough, reading the Washington Post or the Boston Globe in the morning, might choke on their coffee if they suddenly discovered that numerous of those so-called Warbands were armed and accompanied by American, Australian and even European advisors or military contractors. Some of those warbands were unruly and no more than bandits; others were highly effective, respected and feared. They were usually composed of soldiers and mercenaries attached to the army.

Vietnam, like all war zones, if one cared to pay attention, was full of rumours, some unsubstantiated, some more or less corroborated, mainly by prisoners or defectors. One of the rumours circulating was about a young American girl and her band of ex-US soldiers and Meo tribesmen hunting down the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese deep within their own sanctuary. Clearly, the communist soldiers were afraid of them. Supposedly, she had come over to visit a boyfriend who was stationed in some godforsaken Forward Operating Post. What happened after that is a mystery - but clearly, she and her band had become unsound.

We regularly listened to the radio, hoping to catch her voice at least once, but her voice remained silent. At some stage, the rumour train ceased as, more than likely, she had met her end somewhere out there, deep in those dark jungles. Sooner or later, rogue units meet a vastly superior force, and if they cannot disengage and retreat fast enough into the impenetrable jungles, they may well be destroyed.

It didn't bode well for us, considering that as a mix of Vietnamese and Western Rangers, we were, in effect, little more than a Warband or at least an irregular unit waging our own secret little war. Many times, no one knew where we were or if we were even still alive, and more than likely, no one cared.

One day, we caught a radio signal from just one of those isolated groups, and they were clearly in trouble: frantic anonymous voices requesting assistance somewhere far away, yet so close. In the background, one could hear the clatter of automatic weapons - and then suddenly only static. After a long wait, eventually, someone turned the radio off in an almost fatalistic gesture, and the signal died, never to be heard again. It would give you a cold shiver down your back. Battle-hardened soldiers would look blankly with tight lips, fighting back their emotions – another warband had ceased to exist. Nothing is more haunting than the ghosts on the radio… a voice that Jane Dough, sipping her coffee and munching on a Donut, will never hear.