We work out a plan to lure these two grunt-fucks into the jungle to smoke them. I will back up along the jungle trail and make like I am wounded while P-man attracts their attention to come and help him. What could possibly go wrong with this plan, all we gotta do is get them into the jungle and outta sight before we smoke them, all nice and quiet like.
Pfc. Lee is running the sprayer and Jackson is carrying the spray tank.
“Hey, hey, over here, I need some help my buddy is wounded,” calls P-man.
“Who der, y’all Simpson?” asks Lee.
“No I’m not fucking Simpson, hurry the fuck up man, my buddy is bleeding bad and Charlie ain’t far off, hurry up.” says P-man from the half light of the jungle shade.
“Fuck y’all man, I don’t like this shit,” says Jackson.
P-man is waving at them to hurry the fuck up as he retreats back up the trail to where I am sprawled. Lee and Jackson see we are American as soon as they get into the jungle shade and hurry to where P-man is bent over me.
“We all should be calling for backup,” complains Jackson.
“No time, hurry the fuck up,” yells P-man.
The Snake Pfc. Lee is right over me, but Jackson being a bit brighter smells a rat and turns to run back to the firebase.
P-man is an animal; I have never seen him in such a controlled and deadly rage. He catches Jackson and kicks him in the stomach. Jackson is bent over on his hands and knees puking, retching and trying to scream. P-man unsheathes the machete, hisses “For Bien Ho muthafucka”, winds up and swings the machete down on Jacksons exposed neck. There is a THOK as the machete slices cleanly through bone and flesh. Jackson’s head rolls a couple of feet away. The body stays on hands and knees shaking and trembling and spraying blood in long wet pulsing spurts as it doesn’t know the head is gone. P-man swings the machete again and drives it through the back of Jackson’s body and out the chest. The body flops over on its side with the machete impaling it.
I roll over and clip Lee in the throat with the Druganov stock flipping him over backward and watch him struggle to breathe and squeal as he flops on the ground. I kneel on his chest, the little gook semi auto pistol “poodle smacker” handgun in my hand.
“Remember Bien Ho ya fucking sack of shit?” I ask, and press the handgun against his crotch and pull the trigger. The bullet explodes his testicles.
POP, he jerks and flops and screams at the top of his lungs, but no sound comes out. His eyes bug out and his mouth opens so wide his jaws dislocate.
“Feels good doesn’t it, try some of this ya pig fucker,” I press the gun against his left eye, POP, his body arches high and spasms as blood and dark goo squirt out of the ruptured eye socket.
“Ya like it fucka,” I ask as I move the gun to his right eye and pull the trigger again.
POP, he shakes, spasms, jerks and lies still.
The small caliber bullets easily penetrate the brain cavity through the eye socket and ricochet around within the brain cavity making mush as they go. A very quiet and very efficient way to make dead people. I feel good, elated, vengeance is mine and it is fucking sweet!
There are excited voices coming from the path to the firebase, shit, we were not quick enough, shit, fuck, and damnation. With a sudden horrendous roar, the huge Tiger plunges onto the path and charges at the grunts coming from the firebase. Screams, scattered gun fire, more screams, growls, quiet. Fucking jesus christ almighty!
Dog tags collected we slip back into the deep jungle. For two hours we work our way up and down a couple of ridges fording a couple of small streams until we pause just below a ridge top to rest and watch our back trail.
“I’m losing touch with reality, my head is fucked, the fucking tiger showed up and ripped up those grunts?” I ask shakily. “Guess there’s our answer about the jungle spirit.”
“Same tiger as before, with the kinked tail,” hisses P-man. “It makes no fucking sense, but everything out here makes no fucking sense. Mai Lei and the Buddhist ruins, that made no sense either.”
“Gimmie the prick ten, I gotta call the Snakes kill in.” I mutter.
Christ Daria, we slaughtered two grunt pukes...and the fucking great tiger killed the grunts that were closing in on us...what is the fucking tiger?
Hud my love, the tiger will never harm you, he will protect you if he has to...be careful my love!
The Devil rolls on the ground in glee, slavering and watching the death, gore and blood...
Chapter 9: Reaction
“Fuck, I hate it when it is very quiet and I think too much,” says P-man.
“Huh,” I ask.
“I want a beer, no make it a case of beer and a pack of smokes,” says P-man.
“Uhuh,” I grunt.
“Beer and smokes, while I marinate my Angus steak in my special sauce for a couple of hours,” continues P-man. “You ok if I do the BBQ?”
“Sure,” I reply.
“BBQ’d steak on an expensive BBQ with indirect heat, crispy salad, baby potatoes and carrots with butter and salt, mushrooms in garlic butter, and more beer,” muses P-man.
“Jesus, you fuck,” I drool.
“For dessert I want black forest cake with whipped cream, that work for you?” he asks.
“You’re a demented asshole,” I reply.
“The best part is after supper, after coffee and a couple of shots grand Marnier,” P-man muses.
“What then?” now I am interested.
“Two sweet Saigon naked girls massage me all over, then one rides my aching cock and the other puts her pussy in my face so I can make her cum all over me,” says P-man.
“Ahh fuck, you pervert, you hungry demented pervert,” I sigh.
“I love the women in Saigon, they are so small and delicate and their pussies are so tight,” say P-man.
“Shut the fuck up, I don’t want to hear about it,” I growl.
“Hud, they’re all dead you know,” says P-man in a small voice.
I turn from the binoculars to look at P-man, he is weeping and rocking back and forth quietly and I realize he has been while describing the supper and afterwards.
“Jesus P-man you ok, who’s dead?” I ask.
“All the kids at Bien Ho, they’re all dead, Hud, just dead,” sobs P-man.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, this shakes me badly. P-man has always seemed the rock. Often it was me who got squirrely when things felt wrong in the jungle. Or when I could hear Daria speaking to me and warning me. The slaughter of the kids has eroded P-man’s foundation. That would explain his actions hacking up Snake Pfc. Jackson.
“Jesus P-man, dude......... I don’t know what to say, we gotta let it go buddy. They’re gone and cannot be hurt anymore. We’re here and can revenge their slaughter. It doesn’t bring them back but it’s a clear and present warning to those who follow,” I say softly.
P-Man nods and wipes his eyes.
“Hud, I’m going to do terrible things to Boyle!” hisses P-man.
“So am I P-man, so am I, it will not be a quick painless death,” I reply. “If we be the devil’s mercenaries then we do the complete job!”
I am so sorry for what I have done and must do Daria my love...
It is war Hud my darling, and there is no correlation to living in peace...
The Devil laughs and bows at the waist to us...oh yes, we are his favorites and we are gonna torture, slaughter, butcher, Boyle with blood , gore, viscera...
Chapter 10: Boyle
Inside everyone reside two wolves, a black wolf of evil and a white wolf of good. Every day when I awake I must decide which wolf I will feed this day. Sometimes it is very, very hard to feed the white wolf of goodness. The black wolf howls, slavers and slams into the end of the chain holding him in check. If I feed the black wolf too often, he will grow strong and break the chain and be loose upon the world. Woe be onto those who have transgressed against me, for hell, damnation, and the black wolf shall visit them. Should that come to pass I will be lost and will be consumed
in my own hell for eternity.
Boyle must be punished, a slow screaming death of agony over hours for the slaughter of the Bien Ho and the innocent children in particular. How do I retain ownership of my soul through such a course of action? How can I keep the chain on the black wolf?
The Devil is excited and drooling...we are trapped and cannot get out of this...we are the devils legionnaires...this time more than ever...
“Hud, Hud,” murmurs Daria in my head. “This is war and survival, it is an altered state of reality, rules don’t apply here as they do in the real world...you do what has to be done for the children of Bien Ho...”
The jungle, hot steaming jungle, a kaleidoscope of green tones and sounds, drunk with oxygen, evolution, life eternal. Sound is the jungle barometer. When the bird sounds stop death is eminent. What form will death have today, this time? Why is the fucking great tiger stalking us? Are you ready Boyle, can you feel us, can you feel death waiting in the jungle for you?
“I been thinking about what we could do with Boyle, and I got some ideas,” I say.
“You mean besides hack the fucker to shreds?” asks P-Man.
“Yeah, what do you know about the Comanche Indians of the late 1800’s in Texas?” I ask.
“Bout fuck all and nothing,” says P-Man.
“They were the most feared warriors in all of North America because they were masters of torture. And some of their methods are very similar to what Charlie likes to do.” I say.
“Got my attention, let’s hear the program,” say P-Man.
“Comanche’s liked to hang prisoners upside down over a fire and let them cook their heads as they swung back and forth.” I explain.
“Can we cut this fuckers balls off and stuff them in his mouth, can we include it in the program?” asks P-Man.
“Yup, don’t see why not, seems like a dandy addition as far as I can see.” I reply.
“I like it, come to think of it I like it a lot, bet Charlie would like it too.” says P-Man.
“It fits nice, appropriate payment for Bien Ho, and a method Charlie might use.” I say.
Daria watches me from her picture, calmly, lovingly...
The devil is clapping his hands in glee...outstanding torture and death...
We watch and wait; it is just a matter of time. Boyle is ours, ours to perpetrate all the evil horrors he inflicted on the folks of Bien Ho. On the third day, he and some other grunts leave Firebase X-Ray on routine patrol. Yeah, this is the opportunity we have been waiting for. We know generally where they are headed and more importantly where we can intersect them.
It’s not difficult in the jungle to create a little diversion with explosions, smoke, fire, shoot the Ak47 a bit, move around, toss a grenade or two and the grunt boys figure they are under serious attack by Charlie. Once confused and rattled it is not hard to pick out one of them, Boyle, and spirit him away as if he never existed.
Boyle, the slimy weasel, is all too eager to crawl from his unprotected spot to our position in the fake firefight. I whack him on the back of the head with my gun butt and he collapses like a sack of shit. We strip off his gear, tie his hands together and his feet, slide a pole between both and off we go with him bouncing on the pole like a Sunday dinner. As soon as he starts to groan P-man just kicks him in the head until he is unconscious. It takes a little while but we carry Boyle several clicks into the jungle for a little “personal and up close time”.
The Devil is in hysterical anticipation of what is to come. He howls and drools and jumps up and down. Laughing and slapping the ground and clapping his approval...
We strip Boyle naked and tie a rope to his ankles. 20 feet overhead is the branch of a huge tree covered in moss and vines. Boyle is suspended head down from the branch. His arms are lashed behind his back with vines, lashed tight, very tight. He regains consciousness and begins to flop around.
“Well muthafuka Boyle, how good of you to stop by so we can chat,” I hiss at him.
“What the fuck man, cut me down, whatta ya doing, I didn’t do nothing,” whines Boyle.
“Ah, so soon you forget Bien Ho, you maggot piece of shit,” growls P-Man.
“They was nobody, they was nothing, just fuckin gooks, smoke’n gooks don’t count, sides I didn’t do nothing, Johnson he did it all, Johnson and the other guys,” whimpers Boyle.
“Too bad muthafucka, they all dead, and they say it was you who wigged out and did the slaughtering,” smiles P-Man.
“You know what’s gonna happen to you ya muthafuckin hunk of shit?” I ask.
Boyle starts to whine, plead, scream and simper as weasel slime balls do when cornered. He watches upside down while P-man collects the necessary items for a nice little fire. A nice little fire which will be under Boyle’s head.
“Oh christ fuck no, you can’t do this to me, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t my fault.” Boyle is crying and begging now, then struggling and screaming obscenities.
P-Man just keeps bringing wood for the fire.
The huge tiger with the kinked tails steps into the small clearing where we are and looks at us, tossing his head and smelling the air. He swings left, then right and then sits on his haunches. A low rumbling growl comes from his throat. The beast is enormous and even sitting his head is as tall as we are. He is 30 feet away, one leap and he is on us.
“We got company P-man,” I say.
“Fuckin jesus, any plan on what we should do?” asks P-man.
“He could have killed us and eaten us for lunch anytime over the last few days. If he wants to watch then he can watch,” I reply.
“Suits me,” says P-man as he kicks Boyle in the nuts.
With a loud wet farting sound Boyle shits and pisses all over himself. More screaming, pleading, and sobbing follows.
“How are you enjoying our little get together Boyle, is it as much fun as you had at Bien Ho? I ask.
P-man gets up from watching and unsheathes his combat knife and slices Boyle’s balls off. The knife is so sharp Boyle isn’t sure what has happened. P-man shows him up close what his scrotum and testicles look like. He screams an inhuman sound and flops and gyrates in terror. Blood sprays around everywhere. P-Man picks up a handful of dirt and drops it on his crotch on the ragged ends of the tissue where Boyle’s ball’s used to be.
“My my, can’t have you bleeding to death, can we you sack of shit,” says P-Man.
The Tiger roars it’s approval, deafening us, but stays sitting and watching.
When the screaming and flopping begins to slow down I grab his head and P-man stuffs the scrotum and testicles into his open mouth. A few wraps of duct tape around his neck and mouth ensures he won’t puke out his balls.
We sit back and enjoy our handiwork. Share a couple of pulls on my canteen of JD.
“Think it is time for a little fire?” asks P-Man.
“Yes I do believe it is time to warm Sgt. Boyle up some,” I reply.
I take a couple more pulls on the canteen and hand it to P-Man.
Boyle is shaking and trembling and making gagging sounds. P-man pulls him back from the fire a few feet while I get the fire going nicely. Then P-man lets him go, screams an inhuman scream and kicks him as hard as he can in the back. Boyle swings through the fire and out the other side, then back through the fire. Back and forth he swings, fighting to sit up and keep his head out of the flames. Back and forth, back and forth...!
The fire is burning down now and Boyle is swinging slower. He is making animal screams inside his taped mouth. The heat on his head is getting hotter and frantically and spastically he attempts to make the rope swing. His hair is smoking and burning now and his body is shuddering. Steam and blood begin to come out of Boyles ears. With a soft plopping sound his eyes pop out of their sockets followed by gouts of steam. His shuddering has all but stopped and he remains positioned over the low fire. Sudden spasms of jerking wash through what’s left of him.
I unsheathe my combat knife and insert the end into Boyle’s carcass just abov
e his pubic bone and slash downward to his chest using both my hands on the knife. Boyle’s guts and bowels slop out of the stomach cavity and hang down over his chest and head. Boyle doesn’t move.
“Give Smith a whistle will ya P-Man, its time,” I mutter softly.
P-Man looking at Boyles body takes a long pull from the canteen of JD and says “Will do, damn this feels good, just fucking righteous, what the fucker so desperately deserved!”
The fucking great tiger gets up and approaches the remains of Boyle. We back up and give the cat plenty of room. It snuffs at the remains and looks at us giving a rumbling growl of approval. Then turns away from us and slips back into the jungle without a sound!
Daria, dear God Daria my love, we have butchered the creature who slaughtered the children of Bien Ho, the revenge is sweet so sweet....
The Devil is rolling on the ground in hideous delight, screaming laughing and clapping his hands...what a performance...excellent my legionnaires, just so excellent...!
Chapter 11: Extraction
We hump the three clicks to the extraction point very aware of Charlie in the jungle around us. We don’t see him but we sense his presence. The bounty on us is very large for a Vietcong soldier, very large indeed. It is close on to being dusk. And all the way through the jungle the fucking great tiger is following us, pacing us, or running interference. We catch a glimpse of him from time to time as he moves through the jungle and we can hear his cough and grumbling growl.
“What the fuck ya think the bloody great tiger is doing?” ask P-man.
“Well, I don’t believe he means us any harm, likely just wants us the hell out of his jungle.” I reply.
The extraction point is little more than a room sized clearing in the jungle. We huddle close in the trees as we hear the Huey thumping closer and closer. Then it appears over the clearing and a rope with a pair of climbing harnesses attached flops out and falls onto the ground. We waste no time slipping into the harness and begin being winched up to the hovering chopper.
The Horror Page 3