We were hunkered down in a group of ruined mud and wood framed huts at the edge of a larger village. It was chow-time and the grub was being passed around.
That’s when someone shouted, “Hold your fire, hold your fire.”
Several of us stood up and looked in the direction of the voice. That’s when I saw this smallish man in khaki uniform running towards us.
At first I though he was the one yelling at us to hold our fire, but then I realized he was a local. Behind him were several men, all yelling and shouting in Spanish.
We watched as the man raced by our position, followed closely by the hostile group that seemed intent on bodily harming, if not worse the first guy. No one tried to stop either the man or the crowd.
Not one Marine raised a rifle, which is a good thing as their would have been casualties. However, I’ve often wondered if the little dude was ever caught, and if so, what happened to him.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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