Cranston and Tom trudge off toward the crash site, a line of torn earth and trees three football fields long. What remains of the fuselage is crumpled, still smoldering and partially buried at its front end. They walk the length of the wreckage’s path, occasionally picking through the debris. They stay clear of the charred remains of their victims, some whole, some in pieces.
They make a good show of ignoring the other people there, who are performing their own investigation, albeit more professionally and with an apparently great deal more experience in these, or similar, matters.
These other people, though, are not ignoring Tom and Cranston. They are showing quite a bit of interest, forgetting their tasks for a time to watch, waiting for the inevitable authority figure to approach these two dirty, gangly, stumbling white men and decide how their presence will be greeted. Once this is done and the decision is made, they know these two will be taken away in an appropriate manner, and their work will continue.
The uniformed authority figure in question, Colonel Lu Buk of the Cambodian National Army, eventually does take notice of the pair. He approaches them trailed by two men, who are also in uniform but wearing dull green helmets instead of the sharp, shiny-billed hat the Colonel prefers. Colonel Lu Buk asks the two white men, in broken English, what they are doing there.
Cranston, of course, answers with a comment he considers witty, and is quickly beaten senseless with small clubs by the Colonel’s men before being bound and shoved in the back of a small pickup truck. Tom, ever more prudent then Cranston, holds his tongue, and is rewarded for his discretion by not being beaten senseless until after he’s bound and tossed in the back of the small pickup truck. There he lies, mostly unconscious, next to Cranston, who’s entirely unconscious.
Colonel Buk wonders, as his men drive off in the truck carrying the Americans, why he ordered the second man beaten. He decides, after some small contemplation, that it’s hard to stop beating white men once you’ve started. Satisfied, he returns his attention to the crash site, and those who are supposed to be investigating it but are instead watching him. After his stern, fresh-from-ordering-two-beatings gaze returns them to their tasks, he strides purposefully back to his air conditioned truck to enjoy his morning coffee.
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