SNAFU: Hunters

by James A. Moore

  Before Nathan could speak, they were interrupted by barking and yelling outside the tent. The SEALs leapt from their table and ran outside.

  The chained guard dog, Rex, had got himself a piece of the pant-leg of a uniformed army officer. The man was sprawled on the ground, struggling to pull the fabric from the growling dog’s teeth.

  “Get this thing off me,” he shouted.

  “Down, Rex.” Buck pulled the dog by the collar then offered the man a hand up.

  “Sorry about that, Chief,” Nathan shouted to the officer across the dirt clearing. “You wanna come inside for a drink?”

  The man glared.

  “What’re you doin’, Nathan?” Professor whispered from behind. “That’s General Cain.”

  “General? But he’s got one star.”

  “Those are army ranks, you dumb fuck.”

  Shit.

  “You—” the General pointed at Nathan, “come with me.” The man turned on his heel and marched towards the center of base camp.

  The army was in charge of this region. The Navy SEALs were guests here, and it didn’t seem like their presence was much appreciated by some of the higher-ups. Rex’s attack on General Cain was probably not helping things – their makeshift bar was against regs, and Nathan’s disrespect might’ve just solidified their reputation with the brass.

  Nathan ducked into the General’s office.

  “I’ve heard all about you SEALs,” General Cain said, sitting at his desk. “You’re assassins.”

  “We’re here to serve,” Nathan said.

  “We’ve got this area under control,” the general said, his nostrils flaring. “We don’t need any outsiders sneaking around at night, killing from the shadows. I want you all to sit tight and let us work.”

  “Understood.” Nathan nodded, but with the casualties mounting from an unseen VC squad, Nathan doubted whether Cain really did have control over the area. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “By all means,” the general said but Nathan doubted the man meant it.

  “All the guys on the team will tell you they joined to serve their country, and it’s true. But there’s a lot of ways to serve your country, and they chose to join the SEALs. The real truth is they signed up for the action, and if you tell ‘em they can’t operate, there’s gonna be a lot of pent-up energy they’re gonna have to release somehow.”

  Nathan pretended he was talking about his men, but he was really talking about himself – he didn’t come here for a vacation.

  “Is that some kind of a threat?”

  “Absolutely not. But these men have pushed themselves to the limit to come here. They’ve gone through hell, and more training than most people can imagine. It would be a shame to waste that talent.”

  Nathan could tell he wasn’t going to change the general’s mind. On the way out, the general added, “Get rid of that fucking dog.”

  Nathan brought the bad news back to the SEALs.

  “What did you say to him?” Buck asked.

  “Nothing,” Nathan said. “He’d already made up his mind about us.”

  “So we’re supposed to just sit around and jack off all day?” Leon asked. “What is this bullshit? And what about the VC? People are getting killed out there.”

  “I’m as pissed about it as you are,” Nathan said, “but it’s politics.”

  They were supposed to sit on their asses, so they did for the next few days. A few more bodies were found, mangled like all the rest, a look of terror frozen in the eyes of those who still had them.

  It was midday when the Professor came running to Nathan.

  “Nathan,” he shouted, “we need you at the docks.”

  “What’s up?” he asked, automatically reaching for his sidearm.

  “It’s Deacon.”

  Deacon worked on a special program with the SEALs, training freshwater river dolphins for underwater ops. Getting them to detect explosives, maybe even place them. The dolphins had better noses than any machine for detecting explosives, and they seemed to love the work.

  Buck and Nathan ran to the docks and saw Deacon on his knees. In front of him lay the body of one of the dolphins, a former dolphin now, fileted just like the human victims.

  “They killed Glenn,” Deacon shouted, rage pulsing from the man. “Nathan, you hear me? They killed Glenn.”

  “How’d this happen?” Nathan asked gently, knowing he needed a calm Deacon if he was going to get to the bottom of this.

  “I sent the three of ‘em on a training run down the river. They’ve done it plenty of times before. But this time they didn’t come back. When I went to find ‘em—” Deacon stopped and looked at the dolphin pieces.

  “And the others?”

  “I only found Glenn.” Deacon shook his head. “Rob and Billy are missing. Their trackers are offline.”

  “They could still be alive,” Nathan said. “Maybe the trackers are out of range.”

  “What’re we gonna do?” the Professor asked. “We gotta do something about this, right?”

  “We’re running an op,” Nathan said. “Tonight.”

  Leon wrinkled his brow. “To look for a couple of fuckin’ dolphins?”

  Deacon’s face flashed with anger, and he swung a hard right. Leon brought his arm up just in time, and the fist struck with a dulled slapping sound. Then punches were flying from both men.

  Nathan held back Deacon, and the Professor stood between him and Leon.

  “Cool it,” the Professor said.

  “Jesus,” Leon shouted at Deacon. “The fuck’s your problem?”

  “You’re an asshole,” Deacon said.

  Leon had a habit of pushing people’s buttons, seeing what he could get away with, but now was not the time.

  “We consider those dolphins part of the team,” Nathan said.

  “An expensive part,” the Professor added. “Dollar for dollar, those dolphins are about four times as valuable as us.”

  “Besides,” Nathan said, “I think it’s time we secured the river.”

  “But what about the general?”

  “Fuck ‘im. We’ve got a job to do.”

  The team made their way back to the operations tent, cleared the table then laid out their intel, plotting the previous attacks and looking for patterns.

  “How’re we gonna find these guys?” the Professor asked. “The marines sweep the area constantly and they haven’t found jack.”

  “That’s just the problem,” Nathan said. “They do these big daylight sweeps with forty-plus men. Anyone could hear ‘em coming a mile away. But at night, with a smaller team-”

  “So where do we look?” Deacon jumped in.

  “They’re taking the water.” Nathan pointed to a river on the map; the attacks formed a rough pattern that traced along its course. “They’ve prob’ly got a camp upriver. We just need to sit tight around here and wait for ‘em to pass by. We leave tonight. Try to get some sleep before then.” Of course, none of them would.

  They met at the docks in the dark of night. The team checked their weapons, loaded gear into the inflatable Zodiac then hopped inside. Nathan would’ve felt safer in a Mike Boat, but they had to keep a low profile.

  Nathan was the point man; Buck the radio man. Their translator, Bao, was there just in case they grabbed a VC for interrogation. Leon and Simon were the coxswains. Deacon, Kyle, Bentley, and the Professor rounded out the nine-man team.

  Nathan took a moment to size up his squad’s killing power. His weapon was a CAR-15 with a 40mm grenade launcher and plenty of rounds, canister and high explosive. Bentley carried an M3 machinegun and a 7.62mm Chicom pistol. Deacon and Kyle each carried M79s with the XM-148 40mm grenade launcher attachment. They had about twenty of the soda-can sized grenade rounds between them: high-frag, buckshot, smoke canopy, and an experimental XM-463 stealth round. The Professor carried an SKS semi-auto rifle and a .38 combat masterpiece; very professorial. Leon and Simon carried Stoner 63 assault rifles. Most of the men had a
KA-BAR and a couple of M61 hand grenades. Bao carried an AK47, and Buck carried the radio.

  Just as they were loading into the zodiac, a shadow moved up from base. It was Chris Donaldson, the marine from the bar.

  “What’re you doing here?” Nathan asked.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  “I couldn’t keep my brother safe, but I can still put a bullet in those VC fucks.”

  “You sure ‘bout that?” Leon scoffed. “Last time I checked you jarheads weren’t doin’ so hot out there.”

  Donaldson faced off with Leon. “Either I’m going with you, or I’m going straight to Cain to let him know about your little operation.”

  “You threatening us, dip-shit?”

  “Shut up, both of you,” Nathan said. Heads turned towards him, and they waited expectantly for an answer.

  “You’re not really considerin’ it, are you? He’ll just get in the way,” Leon said.

  “Fuck you,” Donaldson snapped. “I can hold my own.” He turned to Nathan. “I need to do this. For my brother.”

  Nathan sighed. “Okay.” It was a bad idea, but agreed anyway – a brother needs vengeance. “Just promise me something: don’t fucking die.”

  “Someone’s gonna die tonight,” Donaldson growled, brandishing his M1 rifle, “but it sure as shit ain’t gonna be me.”

  They took it slow out of the docks; picked up the pace when they were well down the river. The ride was a little less than two hours. Steering to the riverbank, they nestled the zodiac into twisting mangrove roots, concealed under dense overhanging branches – perfect spot for an ambush. Bentley and Kyle set the claymores upstream then waited at the river’s edge.

  Not too long after, they spotted a sampan coming down river.

  “Should I blast ‘em?” Bentley held up the remote detonator.

  Nathan shook his head. “Not yet.”

  The sampan moved closer until revealing its sole occupant.

  “Just one of ‘em?” Bentley said.

  “Could be a scout, maybe,” Leon said.

  “Put the detonators away,” Nathan ordered. “Let’s ask our man some questions.”

  They waited for the boat to close the distance, coming within a dozen yards of their riverside hiding spot.

  “Hands in the air,” Nathan shouted.

  The team sprang from their positions along the river, weapons drawn.

  “Tell him to get over here,” Nathan instructed Bao.

  Bao shouted something to the man, who paddled the sampan over to the riverbank. The SEALs grabbed the edge of his wooden boat and pulled it closer, and the man stood with arms raised, eyes wide – terrified.

  “Ask him if he’s VC,” Nathan said.

  Bao translated, and the man stammered something in reply. “He says he’s not,” Bao said. “He says he’s a hunter. His name is Hiro.”

  “A hunter?” Nathan laughed. “Bullshit. What’s he hunting out here at night?”

  Bao relayed the question, and Hiro answered with two syllables that sounded like ‘yeow kwai’. The way he said it, cold and stone-faced, sent a chill along Nathan’s spine.

  Nathan motioned to the man. “What did he say?”

  Bao paused. “Demons.”

  “Demons? He really say that?” Donaldson said.

  Bao nodded.

  “Check his bag,” Nathan ordered.

  Kyle grabbed the large sack in the bottom of the sampan, pointed a flashlight inside then rifled through the contents.

  Hiro glanced around nervously before speaking in a worried tone, the syllables rushing out.

  “He says we’re not safe here,” Bao translated. “He said, ‘the daughters of Ngu’Tinh are in the waters’.”

  “New tin?”

  “Something like, ‘demon fish’. A myth of Vietnam. Ngu’Tinh is a giant creature with hundreds of legs. It is said to eat fishermen.” Hiro continued rambling while Bao translated. “He says Ngu’Tinh’s daughters live here. Demon-spawn. The river is their feeding ground.”

  “Think I found out why he’s so nervous.” Kyle lifted a small vial of rosy-brown liquid from Hiro’s bag in the sampan. “Heroin. He’s got loads of it. Needles and powder, too.”

  “Drug runner for the VC?” Bentley guessed.

  Nathan shrugged.

  Kyle shone the flashlight on Hiro’s face, revealing red blemishes all across his skin. “He’s an addict.”

  There was a sudden flash of movement from the overhanging trees — a cracking, thwipping sound. Something large snapped down from the canopy and back up again; just a blur of motion, and Bentley was gone.

  “Jesus,” Simon shouted.

  The SEALs scanned the motionless canopy, listened to the sudden silence of the forest.

  “Bentley?” Nathan called into the trees.

  A gurgling sound above.

  Bentley fell back down. One piece at a time. Parts plopped into the water – three successive splashes. One landed in the sampan with a hollow, wooden thud.

  “Fuck,” Kyle yelled, stepping back from the severed arm. “Jesus, fuck!”

  “God damn! Bentley!”

  “The hell was that?”

  “Anyone see it?”

  The men trained their weapons on the canopy. Leaves rustled above. Something was moving fast, sliding through the branches.

  “Squad, rapid!” Nathan ordered, and the forest erupted with gunfire. Nathan sprayed the canopy with his CAR-15, and his ears rang as his squadmates unloaded into the foliage.

  “Ceasefire!”

  The gunfire stopped. Silence, except for the creaking of broken tree limbs, a few branches falling and dropping into the water, some landing on the forest floor.

  “Did we get it?” Buck asked.

  “I don’t see a body,” Nathan said, “whatever it was.”

  “You don’t think he was telling the truth do you?” Kyle motioned to Hiro. “About the demons.”

  The men glanced at the Professor.

  “Of course not,” he said. “Demons don’t exist.”

  “I don’t know about demons.” Nathan kept his eyes on the canopy. “But I’ve never seen anything move that fast.”

  “There’s a hundred-and-forty types of snakes in Nam,” the Professor said, “and some of ‘em are twenty-feet long.”

  “Just keep your eyes open.”

  The men scanned the trees.

  Something heavy dropped into the water, splashing down an arm’s length from the sampan. Nathan swung his weapon at the monstrous shape, just a silhouette against the stars. It was ten-feet tall, hunched, a four-limbed thing with a tiny head. The creature had serrated arms that ended in points, like a giant praying mantis.

  Nathan fired off a few rounds just as the creature snapped forward, pulled Kyle screaming from the Sampan, and dragged him under the water.

  “Jesus!”

  “Fuck!”

  They scanned the water, weapons ready. Bubbles rose to the surface. Then pieces of Kyle floated up: arms, legs, torso… then his head. His dead face stared upwards, bobbing gently in the water.

  “God! It got Kyle.”

  “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  “What was that thing?”

  “Wasn’t a fucking snake.”

  “There it is,” Leon shouted. A large ripple moved across the surface, darting left and right, retreating into the distance.

  Nathan popped a high explosive canister into the 40mm attachment and levelled the barrel. He trained the weapon on the retreating ripple then fired. THUNK. The round struck the surface and exploded violently. BOOM. The blast sent a splash thirty feet in the air and lit the river like daylight. The shock-wave hit like a wall of wind, then a sheet of water fell across the men, and a wave surged over their feet.

  Simon stared at the water. “You got it, right?”

  “Maybe,” Nathan said. “But we’re not sticking around to find out.”

  “We’re leaving?” Donaldson shouted. “W
e just found the enemy and you’re gonna run?”

  “I don’t know what that thing was, but there could be more of ‘em around. And right now we’re engaging on their terms.” Nathan glanced around. “Into the boat,” he ordered. “Let’s go.”

  Leon, Simon, the Professor, and Deacon moved into the Zodiac.

  “What do we do about him?” Buck pointed at Hiro; the addict, motionless in the sampan.

  “We’ll take him,” Nathan said. “He might know something.”

  Buck grabbed Hiro’s arms to pull him from the sampan but the man struggled, shouting in Vietnamese.

  “He says leave him here,” Bao translated.

  “I got that part.”

  “We’ll take his stash,” Nathan said. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to come along then.”

  Buck grabbed Hiro’s bag and tossed it to Nathan. Hiro screamed, and his head tracked the motion of the bag through the air into Nathan’s waiting hand.

  “Come and get it.” Nathan dangled the bag at arm’s length. Hiro leapt from the sampan into knee-deep water. He splashed forwards, lunging through the river to the prize of heroin.

  For an instant, a terrifying sensation gripped Nathan. A penetrating tingle in the base of his skull. Primal instinct, subconscious awareness.

  Nathan turned and dropped to a knee. He felt the rush of wind as a serrated limb whizzed past overhead – the arm of a creature that stood just a few feet away. Nathan pulled the trigger on his CAR-15, emptying the rest of the magazine into that monstrous green torso. The rounds blew through its body, exploded out its back, and turned its body into green Swiss cheese. The creature leapt into the canopy, oozing from its fresh wounds.

  Nathan spun to screams and gunfire. His men were fighting two more of the green horrors. The sampan was painted with a coat of blood and chunks that used to be Buck. There was a flurry of gore where the creature’s arms thrashed like a giant blender working its way over the corpse. The Zodiac was ripped up and deflated, most of its compartments slashed open, and half sunk into the river.

  Deacon scrambled back to land, Leon unloaded his stoner, spraying wildly, and Professor fired off a few clean shots with his SKS. Donaldson stood his ground and fired with his M1, yelling like a mad man. Simon was spread across the top of the water in a five-yard radius.