I've decided I'd sink some time into writing, hopefully eventually for profit, but I thought I'd leave a little teaser of an idea I had. Probably won't add any more onto the forums besides this first chapter.
It was the middle of the night when the rain picked up the pace, soaking the muddy trenches and sandbag barriers set up around the combat outpost. Outside of the base was hardly visible with fog and darkness suspending the squad’s vision. Huddled up under a tarp was two GIs, peering out into the fog without a visual in sight.
“You see any Charlie out there?”, asked Corporal Shelton in a casual tone, scanning his line of sight with his M16’s barrel snug up against a sandbag. He looks to his left, waiting a response from Private Kendrick, a recent graduate from high school. He enlisted to serve along with his father, who was an ordnance Captain stationed out in Da Nang. Their family had a history of serving in the United States military, a blood-line of patriots for generations.
“I don’t see shit, Corp.”, peering towards his dark-skinned brother in arms, “... but fortunately for us, that means they don’ see us.”, a silhouette of a grin was recognized from the moonlight reflecting off a puddle of water outside their trench.
“I dunno’ ‘bout that.”, Corporal Marcus Shelton looked back out of slot, still keeping his eyes open for Viet-cong. He stands there in a relaxed manner as he remains cool, calm and collected leaned forward against the butt of his stock. “— you think they eat a lotta’ carrots out here? Hope they don’t got them rabbit eyes..”
Outside, the sky was still pitch black, however, the rain slowly began to let up, giving the GIs a break from the sharp tattering of water above their heads. The fog began to roll off, giving a better view of the jungle they were positioned in.
“... that’s a god damn good question, — do they have carrots out here?”, Private Dalton Kendrick responded with a hush whisper of a chuckle, peering back towards his Corporal. “— stupid question..”, he doubles back on himself, shaking his head, paying his attention to the outside as it clears up.
A rustling in the bush in the distance, a visual runs through the foliage, tripping down on the ground with a child-like yelp as he hits the ground.
“CHARLIE!”, Dalton eagerly lifts his rifle up, aiming down the sights as he expects Vietcong. Opening fire, he tears up the foliage with his M16 in a clearly anxious and uncontrolled rapid fire.
His shouting was repeated throughout the outpost, several voices yelled out, “CHARLIE!”, and soon the entire base was alerted. Before a minute was through, the entire squad began to open fire on all flanks at any plant that looked at them wrong, fearing the Vietcong’s ambush.
“Hold fire!”, barked a gritty voice, coming from the central region of the outpost. It was Staff Sergeant Tommy Rawlings, a stout shaped man with a coarse voice of a heavy smoker. “Hold fuckin’ fire!”, he barked yet again as a few rifles were still rattling off.
The gun-fire came to a halt, and soon the Staff Sergeant walked towards the entrenchment where Corporal Shelton and Private Kendrick remained quiet, awaiting addressal.
“Corporal, — I swear to God, I will shove my boot so far up your black ass it’ll knock your teeth out! Now, what the fuck is the meaning of this, — where did you see Charles?”, the stout Staff Sergeant gives a dark stare towards the Corporal.
“I didn’t see Charlie anywhere, Staff Sergeant!”, the Corporal shouted back in a respectful tone, “I do not know why the Private opened fire, Staff Sergeant!”, his posture tall and disciplined, knowing better than to step out of line.
“Private!”, Rawlings turned, barking at the enlisted this time, “What is your major malfunction? Are you trying to get us spotted?!”
At this point, a silence was held for a moment as the Private struggled to speak up, “I— ugh, I—..”, he stumbled on his words, panicked slightly as he cracks, shaking his head down at the ground, “I swear I saw somethin’ out there! I don’t wanna’ die! I don’t want any of us ta’ die!”
The Staff Sergeant squats down outside of their dug-out, staring down at the Private as he speaks in a coarse tone, “Listen up you son of a whore, you will die when I give you the order — you’re gonna’ take point and follow-up with a perimeter patrol, understood?”, giving the Private an opportunity to redeem himself with his response.
Dalton breaths in deeply, letting it back out through his nose before giving a gallant bark back, “Yes, Staff Sergeant!”, he hops out of the dug-out with his rifle, quickly attaching his bayonet to the tip while his hands shake. The Corporal hops out of the trench as well, tagging behind the Private.
“Don’t worry, Dal’, I gotchur’ back..”, Shelton speaks up in a hush tone as he tags behind with his M16 steady in his arms, prowling along the muddy ground while making himself small.
The Staff Sergeant stands by, resting a hand on his side-arm in it’s holster with the other rested on his hip as he watches the two make their way towards the bush. His facial expression was a mix between an amused look and a concerned on with one side of his lips smiling with the other relaxed.
The two finally reached the foliage with their rifles cocked and ready to fire. Scanning cautiously, there was a weak whimper from a close distance. The sound was getting closer as the two kept moving in.
“Fuck, Private, sounds like you clipped onna’ them.”, Corporal Shelton comments, sticking behind Dalton as he moves forward.
Dalton hears the whimpering and it must only be a few feet away. He sees some shredded plant leaves on the ground moving. He reaches down, brushing off the leaves with his hand and to his surprise, there would be a small Asian boy with a gunshot in the side of his gut. Dalton looks into his brown beady eyes as the child’s lip shakes as if he’s in shock.
“It’s a boy! It’s a Vietnamese kid!”, shouts the Private turns back towards the Corporal and Staff Sergeant. “He’s hurt bad!”
A voice is heard calling out from a trench in the distance. The voice was easily recognizable to Private Kendrick, it was Private First Class Daniel Shepard.
“He’s probably Vietcong, — just off the
or somethin’!”
He was promoted for his bold efforts when he was the last one out of skirmish South-West of Hue. The man was either insane, or truly cared more about his fellow Marines than himself, both useful in times of war. Out of all the enlisted, he was the most eager to do the fighting, but that went both for the Vietcong and his fellow brothers in arms. Shepard never turned away from a scrap, unless rank dictated otherwise.
“No, don’t be cunty, Private Shepard.”, the Staff Sergeant darts his glare towards Shepard’s hiding hole. “We’ll get whatever information he’s got”, turning towards the Private and Corporal standing by the child’s wounded body. Private Kendrick removes the leaves that the child covered himself and his wounds with. His eyes were caught by the blood bubbling out of the gut-wound. Below the child’s body is a small puddle of blood.
“He needs help! He’s lost a lotta’ blood!”, the Private lifts the child up in his arms with a metallic rattle. Walking back towards the encampment, a click is heard. Looking down to the child, he sees the child holding a pin on his fingers.
“Son of a bitch!”, shouted Shelton, “Get that thing off!”
“Fucker pulled your pin!”, barked out Private First Class Shepard, “Get it off!”
“Get that fuckin’ grenade off your rig!”, the Staff Sergeant draws his Colt 1911 from his holster, lifting it towards the ground, readying it as he steps back away from the live explosive.
“Oh, fuckin’ Christ! — J-Jesus!”, the man drops the child onto the ground, yelping reaching to the grenade, trying to tug it off the strap, however he’s too panicked.
Corporal Shelton shakes his head, screaming to himself as he takes three steps before diving towards a nearby trench, bracing himself for the explosion.
Quickly, he tugs his vest up and over his body wide-eyed as he swing it once, throwing it and letting it explode hardly a meter away from his body.
The explosion booms, causing a large concussive blast and fragments to shatter into pieces and fly throughout the area.
“Aaaghhhh!”, Dalton screams viciously with his face partially burnt with fragment stuck in his face, his screams so loud his voice cracks. His face completely red with a mist of red spray. One hand holds his other’s forearm where his wrist and hand used to be. His body shakes and convulses as blood pumps and squirts out of his arm. Private Kendrick’s screaming comes to an end as he passes out from shock.
A medic quickly hops out of a nearby trench, the name was Private Milton Freeman and moved to assist Dalton’s situation with the help of Corporal Shelton.
Meanwhile, Staff Sergeant Rawlings shakes his head with a rather calm demeanor, sliding his Colt back into his holster. He walks back into his post, taking a seat by the radio. Letting out a sigh, his sucks his lips in together, pondering for a few moments to piece together what he should report in. “Second Lieutenant Honeycutt, this is Staff Sergeant Rawlings of the 1st Marine Division, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines. We had a incident. Private Dalton Kendrick is severely wounded, but I don’t think he’ll make it. He lost a hand and his face is badly burned, over.”
“Fucksakes, those traps are to die for..”, responds a crackling voice on the radio. “Copy that, Staff Sergeant. Your replacements are on the move and should be there by oh-seven-hundred. Come talk to me when you’re back at the FOB. We’ll notify the family within the week, make sure the body comes back, over.”
“Roger that, will do. Over and out.”, Rawlings hangs up the radio with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. Reaching towards the table, he pulls a tray towards his lap and sets it down. On the tray would be a bag of tobacco and rolling papers. Rolling himself a cigarette, he lights it up as Sergeant Jared Highwater slouches under the entrance to fit in the small hovel. For a few moments, they simply look at each other without speaking a word. Sergeant Highwater breaks the silence after peering down to the ground and back up to the Staff Sergeant.
“You alright?”
“I’m fine as a broad on Broadway..”
“Bullshit. I know you’re fuckin’ blamin’ yourself for this one.”
“Fuck off…”
“No, not happenin’.”
“Do I have to pull rank?”
“Look man, — you don’t have to do this to yourself, it’s not like you thought a fuckin’ kid that age could be trained to kill..”
“Yeah, but I told him ta’ check it out. That little shit coulda’ just bled out.. Just wanted to get him ta’ conquer his fear.”, the Staff Sergeant shakes his head after taking a drag of his cigarette, blowing it through his nose he responds while meeting Jared’s eyes, “Platoon is comin’ to replace us. We’ve been here for a week and we’re already down four enlisted. Chances are, that explosion alerted some VC to the area. They’re probably already out there, scouting us out, if that kid wasn’t already doin’ it. Either way, we gotta’ hold out ‘til morning.. Let the others know.”
It was the middle of the night when the rain picked up the pace, soaking the muddy trenches and sandbag barriers set up around the combat outpost. Outside of the base was hardly visible with fog and darkness suspending the squad’s vision. Huddled up under a tarp was two GIs, peering out into the fog without a visual in sight.
“You see any Charlie out there?”, asked Corporal Shelton in a casual tone, scanning his line of sight with his M16’s barrel snug up against a sandbag. He looks to his left, waiting a response from Private Kendrick, a recent graduate from high school. He enlisted to serve along with his father, who was an ordnance Captain stationed out in Da Nang. Their family had a history of serving in the United States military, a blood-line of patriots for generations.
“I don’t see shit, Corp.”, peering towards his dark-skinned brother in arms, “... but fortunately for us, that means they don’ see us.”, a silhouette of a grin was recognized from the moonlight reflecting off a puddle of water outside their trench.
“I dunno’ ‘bout that.”, Corporal Marcus Shelton looked back out of slot, still keeping his eyes open for Viet-cong. He stands there in a relaxed manner as he remains cool, calm and collected leaned forward against the butt of his stock. “— you think they eat a lotta’ carrots out here? Hope they don’t got them rabbit eyes..”
Outside, the sky was still pitch black, however, the rain slowly began to let up, giving the GIs a break from the sharp tattering of water above their heads. The fog began to roll off, giving a better view of the jungle they were positioned in.
“... that’s a god damn good question, — do they have carrots out here?”, Private Dalton Kendrick responded with a hush whisper of a chuckle, peering back towards his Corporal. “— stupid question..”, he doubles back on himself, shaking his head, paying his attention to the outside as it clears up.
A rustling in the bush in the distance, a visual runs through the foliage, tripping down on the ground with a child-like yelp as he hits the ground.
“CHARLIE!”, Dalton eagerly lifts his rifle up, aiming down the sights as he expects Vietcong. Opening fire, he tears up the foliage with his M16 in a clearly anxious and uncontrolled rapid fire.
His shouting was repeated throughout the outpost, several voices yelled out, “CHARLIE!”, and soon the entire base was alerted. Before a minute was through, the entire squad began to open fire on all flanks at any plant that looked at them wrong, fearing the Vietcong’s ambush.
“Hold fire!”, barked a gritty voice, coming from the central region of the outpost. It was Staff Sergeant Tommy Rawlings, a stout shaped man with a coarse voice of a heavy smoker. “Hold fuckin’ fire!”, he barked yet again as a few rifles were still rattling off.
The gun-fire came to a halt, and soon the Staff Sergeant walked towards the entrenchment where Corporal Shelton and Private Kendrick remained quiet, awaiting addressal.
“Corporal, — I swear to God, I will shove my boot so far up your black ass it’ll knock your teeth out! Now, what the fuck is the meaning of this, — where did you see Charles?”, the stout Staff Sergeant gives a dark stare towards the Corporal.
“I didn’t see Charlie anywhere, Staff Sergeant!”, the Corporal shouted back in a respectful tone, “I do not know why the Private opened fire, Staff Sergeant!”, his posture tall and disciplined, knowing better than to step out of line.
“Private!”, Rawlings turned, barking at the enlisted this time, “What is your major malfunction? Are you trying to get us spotted?!”
At this point, a silence was held for a moment as the Private struggled to speak up, “I— ugh, I—..”, he stumbled on his words, panicked slightly as he cracks, shaking his head down at the ground, “I swear I saw somethin’ out there! I don’t wanna’ die! I don’t want any of us ta’ die!”
The Staff Sergeant squats down outside of their dug-out, staring down at the Private as he speaks in a coarse tone, “Listen up you son of a whore, you will die when I give you the order — you’re gonna’ take point and follow-up with a perimeter patrol, understood?”, giving the Private an opportunity to redeem himself with his response.
Dalton breaths in deeply, letting it back out through his nose before giving a gallant bark back, “Yes, Staff Sergeant!”, he hops out of the dug-out with his rifle, quickly attaching his bayonet to the tip while his hands shake. The Corporal hops out of the trench as well, tagging behind the Private.
“Don’t worry, Dal’, I gotchur’ back..”, Shelton speaks up in a hush tone as he tags behind with his M16 steady in his arms, prowling along the muddy ground while making himself small.
The Staff Sergeant stands by, resting a hand on his side-arm in it’s holster with the other rested on his hip as he watches the two make their way towards the bush. His facial expression was a mix between an amused look and a concerned on with one side of his lips smiling with the other relaxed.
The two finally reached the foliage with their rifles cocked and ready to fire. Scanning cautiously, there was a weak whimper from a close distance. The sound was getting closer as the two kept moving in.
“Fuck, Private, sounds like you clipped onna’ them.”, Corporal Shelton comments, sticking behind Dalton as he moves forward.
Dalton hears the whimpering and it must only be a few feet away. He sees some shredded plant leaves on the ground moving. He reaches down, brushing off the leaves with his hand and to his surprise, there would be a small Asian boy with a gunshot in the side of his gut. Dalton looks into his brown beady eyes as the child’s lip shakes as if he’s in shock.
“It’s a boy! It’s a Vietnamese kid!”, shouts the Private turns back towards the Corporal and Staff Sergeant. “He’s hurt bad!”
A voice is heard calling out from a trench in the distance. The voice was easily recognizable to Private Kendrick, it was Private First Class Daniel Shepard.
“He’s probably Vietcong, — just off the
or somethin’!”He was promoted for his bold efforts when he was the last one out of skirmish South-West of Hue. The man was either insane, or truly cared more about his fellow Marines than himself, both useful in times of war. Out of all the enlisted, he was the most eager to do the fighting, but that went both for the Vietcong and his fellow brothers in arms. Shepard never turned away from a scrap, unless rank dictated otherwise.
“No, don’t be cunty, Private Shepard.”, the Staff Sergeant darts his glare towards Shepard’s hiding hole. “We’ll get whatever information he’s got”, turning towards the Private and Corporal standing by the child’s wounded body. Private Kendrick removes the leaves that the child covered himself and his wounds with. His eyes were caught by the blood bubbling out of the gut-wound. Below the child’s body is a small puddle of blood.
“He needs help! He’s lost a lotta’ blood!”, the Private lifts the child up in his arms with a metallic rattle. Walking back towards the encampment, a click is heard. Looking down to the child, he sees the child holding a pin on his fingers.
“Son of a bitch!”, shouted Shelton, “Get that thing off!”
“Fucker pulled your pin!”, barked out Private First Class Shepard, “Get it off!”
“Get that fuckin’ grenade off your rig!”, the Staff Sergeant draws his Colt 1911 from his holster, lifting it towards the ground, readying it as he steps back away from the live explosive.
“Oh, fuckin’ Christ! — J-Jesus!”, the man drops the child onto the ground, yelping reaching to the grenade, trying to tug it off the strap, however he’s too panicked.
Corporal Shelton shakes his head, screaming to himself as he takes three steps before diving towards a nearby trench, bracing himself for the explosion.
Quickly, he tugs his vest up and over his body wide-eyed as he swing it once, throwing it and letting it explode hardly a meter away from his body.
The explosion booms, causing a large concussive blast and fragments to shatter into pieces and fly throughout the area.
“Aaaghhhh!”, Dalton screams viciously with his face partially burnt with fragment stuck in his face, his screams so loud his voice cracks. His face completely red with a mist of red spray. One hand holds his other’s forearm where his wrist and hand used to be. His body shakes and convulses as blood pumps and squirts out of his arm. Private Kendrick’s screaming comes to an end as he passes out from shock.
A medic quickly hops out of a nearby trench, the name was Private Milton Freeman and moved to assist Dalton’s situation with the help of Corporal Shelton.
Meanwhile, Staff Sergeant Rawlings shakes his head with a rather calm demeanor, sliding his Colt back into his holster. He walks back into his post, taking a seat by the radio. Letting out a sigh, his sucks his lips in together, pondering for a few moments to piece together what he should report in. “Second Lieutenant Honeycutt, this is Staff Sergeant Rawlings of the 1st Marine Division, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines. We had a incident. Private Dalton Kendrick is severely wounded, but I don’t think he’ll make it. He lost a hand and his face is badly burned, over.”
“Fucksakes, those traps are to die for..”, responds a crackling voice on the radio. “Copy that, Staff Sergeant. Your replacements are on the move and should be there by oh-seven-hundred. Come talk to me when you’re back at the FOB. We’ll notify the family within the week, make sure the body comes back, over.”
“Roger that, will do. Over and out.”, Rawlings hangs up the radio with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. Reaching towards the table, he pulls a tray towards his lap and sets it down. On the tray would be a bag of tobacco and rolling papers. Rolling himself a cigarette, he lights it up as Sergeant Jared Highwater slouches under the entrance to fit in the small hovel. For a few moments, they simply look at each other without speaking a word. Sergeant Highwater breaks the silence after peering down to the ground and back up to the Staff Sergeant.
“You alright?”
“I’m fine as a broad on Broadway..”
“Bullshit. I know you’re fuckin’ blamin’ yourself for this one.”
“Fuck off…”
“No, not happenin’.”
“Do I have to pull rank?”
“Look man, — you don’t have to do this to yourself, it’s not like you thought a fuckin’ kid that age could be trained to kill..”
“Yeah, but I told him ta’ check it out. That little shit coulda’ just bled out.. Just wanted to get him ta’ conquer his fear.”, the Staff Sergeant shakes his head after taking a drag of his cigarette, blowing it through his nose he responds while meeting Jared’s eyes, “Platoon is comin’ to replace us. We’ve been here for a week and we’re already down four enlisted. Chances are, that explosion alerted some VC to the area. They’re probably already out there, scouting us out, if that kid wasn’t already doin’ it. Either way, we gotta’ hold out ‘til morning.. Let the others know.”
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