Adapted from the Rosco story:
It was a $500 fine for killing a buffalo -- of which the US government had to pay. These payments were made in an effort to keep a friendly relationship with the local villagers because the buffalo was their main beast of burden and the villagers did not take too kindly to their loss.
The Marine’s were on a sweep through the low lands, where most of the farming is done. And it is where most of the rice paddies are located. A typical rice paddy field was about the size of a football field, filled with mud and water. Walking through the mud and water was one of the hardest things for most people to do. You would take one step and sink up to your knees.
Now the water buffalo in that area was, in Doc’s opinion, bred especially to work in and travel through the mud. And. for some reason, training, instinct or a different scent, the buffalos disliked, the G.I’s, As his luck would have it, one took a particular dislike to the 140 pound medic.
While he was laboring to get out of one rice field, Doc became keenly aware of commotion behind me. Turning just in time to see the buffalo start to charge, his first thought was of course to get out of the way. But it wouldn’t do any good; the buffalo was faster in the mud.
Besides, Doc figured that he was worth more than $500; so he pulled out his .45 pistol and fired off one shot. By hitting the buffalo, he only became madder and continued his charge. Steadying his hand, Doc took better aim. The sound of rifle fire came from behind and the buffalo fell in a splash of blood and water at Doc’s feet.
In what could only be considered a mild form of shock, Doc looked to his right to see Rosco. He was standing there with his rifle now at his side, and with his usual smile.
“Thanks,” Doc at least managed to say to him.
“No sweat, Doe,” he casually answered back.
Posted by Michael at January 31, 2004 09:00 AM