| Subject: Requiescant In Pace 3 |
Author:
Rox
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 15:55:49 01/17/02 Thu
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Requiescant In Pace (Sequel to Anguish of Angels)" on 20:35:55 01/15/02 Tue
Viet Nam, 1967
“Whiskey Mike! Do you read? Over!”
“Yeah, I goddamn f=g read you!” Walter muttered beneath his breath as he worked furiously with the det-cord. A moment passed before he grabbed at the hand-set of his PRC-77 radio to answer the call. “I’m going to blow it--move it or lose it!!”
The firefight had become intense. Bullets shredded the surrounding foliage along the banks of the river. Walter threw himself to the ground trying to find shelter behind a fallen log, dragging his detonator with him.
There were shouts in English and in Vietnamese, cries for help, curses and screams.
Walter peered around the log to see the bridge he had to blow and was dismayed to see a woman and a young boy running across it. He watched helplessly as they fell on the bridge, pinned down by the vicious attack from both sides.
“Damn it!” Walter muttered underneath his breath, “Get off the bridge!” He watched, mentally pressing them to move. He had seconds to blow the bridge before the VC came across it. He could see them advancing and taking up positions.
“Move!” He shouted it at them, but knew they couldn’t hear for all the noise. He saw the woman get hit and the young boy desperately trying to drag her to safety.
“Shit!” Walter dropped the detonator, picked up his rifle and ran to the bridge. He reached the boy’s side and helped him drag the woman across. It didn’t take a genius to realize she was dead, she had a gaping hole in her head, but the boy was hysterical and wouldn’t let go of her.
“Sorry--” Walter slapped the boy across his face to get his attention, then slung his slight body over his shoulder and ran for the near end of the bridge. “Let’s go, kid.”
They made it back to the detonator just as the VC made their run across the bridge; Walter welcomed them by blowing it up at the same moment. The explosion brought sudden quiet to the jungle as if everything had been stunned by it.
Spitting mud, Walter sat up. The little boy beneath him was nearly dry as Walter had covered him with his body during the explosion. The child lay there wide-eyed and shivering. Walter diagnosed shock but had nothing to cover him with.
“Sergeant!”
“Over here!” Walter called out.
Private Weldon dashed from behind a tree and dropped at Walter’s feet. “Sarge! I can’t find the lieutenant!”
“Take off your shirt,” Walter ordered. Weldon looked at him questioningly, but started unbuttoning it.
“Do you know where the L. T. is?” Weldon asked again as he handed Walter his shirt.
Walter took the shirt and wrapped the boy in it. Unrolling the long sleeves, he used them to tie the shirt tightly around the child. “He was about twenty yards in that direction with Munson and Keith. Why?”
“Why? Sarge! This place is crawling with VC! I saw about twenty to thirty of them on this side of the river. We gotta get out of here!”
“Calm down before I shoot you!” Walter growled, as he picked up the child. “And grab that radio and my stuff.”
The flustered, frightened private did as ordered and followed Walter away from the river towards where the lieutenant was last seen. They found him in minutes, dead, along with the others.
“Damn it. Now I gotta train another one.” Walter mumbled grimly. “Nothing else to do but go back to camp. How much ammo you got left?”
“I don’t know! Maybe half a clip!” Weldon nearly shouted.
“Look in that bag. I have four more clips--and for crissakes calm down. It’s over for now.”
His mouth dry with fear, Weldon pulled out his canteen and took a long gulp out of it. “Sorry, Sarge.” he said a moment later. “This was my first real fire-fight.”
“Congratulations.” Walter said sarcastically. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and the Vietnamese soldier wandered away. As if on cue, the regular jungle noises picked up where the sound of pouring rain had left off.
Feeling it was safe to do so, Nikita started to get up, but was pressed back down by Michael’s hand. “What?’ She whispered, craning her neck around to try and see him. She could feel the tension in his body as he lay against her back.
“Something’s not right.” He said softly.
“Intuition?” Nikita asked with some surprise.
“No. Observation. Why are there guards on the perimeter?”
“To keep the prisoners from escaping, I imagine.” She replied.
“Escape to where? From what we know of the treatment of prisoners, it’s doubtful any of them are strong enough to try an escape, even if they had any where to go.”
“So, okay. I give. Why the guards?”
Michael’s voice sounded grim, “Perhaps, we are expected.”
* * *
“Count noses Walter,” Operations ordered as he shrugged out of his parachute harness, “then do a radio check with Birkoff.”
Operations pulled out a map and a GPS, made a few calculations and nodded. “Right on target. So far, so good!”
Walter returned with six men in tow. “We’re missing Morrison. Everyone else is accounted for.”
“We’ll wait for five minutes--if he doesn’t show, we’ll try to pick him up on the way back.” Operations said with no little irritation. “All right--I want that equipment set up. The middle of that open field--that’s our landing zone. We need it illuminated. I want interlocking firing positions here and here to cover egress,” he pointed as he spoke. “I want claymores on the perimeter. If we get those men here, I don’t want casualties as we take off! Walter, you’re in charge. Get the LZ secured!”
“How far from the rendezvous point are we?” Walter asked, unloading Claymores from an olive-drab canvas bag.
“Half a mile. It’s as close as we dare. We can’t afford detection, but we can’t be too far away either. We have a three hour window of operation to get these men out of here. We’re on radio silence, starting sequencing--now! Let’s get to it!” Operations waved his team over and they set out into the jungle, leaving Walter and Strictland behind to set up the LZ.
“Damn it! I hate the rain!” Walter swore skyward as it began to pour. He set out the claymores in a semi-circle around the soggy landing zone, leaving one safe egress to the middle of the field.
Strictland was in the middle of the landing zone setting out the landing lights that would guide in the evac choppers when he first heard the noise: a deep, rumbling growl. “What the hell is that?” He said aloud, drawing his weapon.
“What?” Walter suddenly appeared out of the tree line that surrounded the field.
“Crap! Walter! You scared the holyshit out of me!” Strictland re-holstered his 9 millimeter.
“Aren’t you finished yet?” Walter griped.
“No! I’m a damn man short, if you’ll remember! Where the hell did Morrison get to anyway?”
“Who knows. Could be hung up in a tree. Could be dead. All I know for sure is I saw his chute open. With luck, he’ll turn up. I’m finished anyway. I’ll help you.” Walter readjusted his night-vision goggles and pitched in to help.
* * *
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 
