by JC Braswell
Williams ignored Harris and focused on the sound of his breathing in an attempt to calm down. The two white orbs sparkled until their hue faded back to bright gold. It had to be the Viet Cong playing tricks. There was no other explanation.
“LT.” Harris poked him.
“What?” Williams swatted Harris away, keeping his focus on the anomalies.
“The VC. He’s over there, and so is Anuska…and Jones…and Longhorn. Their bodies—”
Williams begrudgingly forced his attention away from the glow and up at Harris. Even in the darkness, the kid’s face was lit up as if he’d seen a ghost.
“This better not be some terrible joke Simmons put you up to.”
“Trust me. Wouldn’t lie to you, LT.” There was something unmistakably chilling about Harris’s tone. The kid’s voice trembled with a fear unlike any that Williams had heard before from the brazen young man.
Williams peered back up into the trees, unsure of what he’d witnessed. Nobody could move that fast up a tree, not even them.
“They’re over there.” Harris pointed. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
“Show me.” Williams nudged Harris forward with his elbow and looked back at the treetops one last time. Nothing.
Harris hesitated with each step. His voice squeaked but did not form words.
“Come on, out with it,” Williams demanded.
“I…I don’t think I can,” the boy pleaded and pointed forward.
“God help you, this better be good,” Williams huffed.
Williams staggered past Harris, his thigh still throbbing with pain, to an open patch of grass the size of a playground merry-go-round. His pulse slowed as he swallowed. The purple-green world faded around him until he saw the horror.
There was good reason for Harris’s fear.
“Jesus Christ.” Williams backpedaled a few steps. The gruesome scene came to a standstill, a painting only the truly depraved could imagine. The black plumes of jungle shrub that swatted at his calves, the dark branches above that were a haven for snipers, and the sticky and sometimes unbearable low fog seemed insignificant.
“Wizardry.” All Williams could muster was repeating Simmons’s words. He wanted to pretend he never saw them. They were his responsibility, his brothers.
Their bloated faces lurched forward. Their arms reached for the treetops, secured by a thick vine that hung from the highest branch, creaking as it swayed with the weight of the dead soldiers. Decay purveyed the air within the small opening. It reminded Williams of a meatpacking plant.
This can’t be real. Williams handed Harris his rifle before mustering enough courage to approach the huddled mass. His foot sank ankle-deep into the saturated ground, his injured leg screaming as he tried to free it from the muck.
“I…told you,” Harris whimpered again.
“Please not now.” He slogged his way through the soft soil until he stood within arm’s reach of his brothers. Maybe it was just a nightmare. It had to be.
Williams flipped on his flashlight with a red filter, realizing it could potentially expose their position. Reason didn’t matter. He had to take the chance. He had to see them.
“We’re so dead. We are so, so dead.” Harris paced.
They were desecrated, their bodies strung up with no respect for the dead, ready to be bludgeoned for their cause. He recognized Anuska first. His tongue resembled a slug—purple, black, and swollen, lolling to the right. His eyes were removed, black craters left in their place. A steady trickle dripped from the tip of Anuska’s boot down to the ground. Anuska gave his blood to the wretched earth.
My God. Williams leaned in closer, holding his breath as best he could.
A survival knife secured the plastic rectangle embedded in Anuska’s skull. Williams only needed to see the black spade with an accompanying black A on either corner of the white card, their calling card.
“How is this possible?” Harris asked, his voice shaking with each syllable. “I mean, they couldn’t drag them up here. They’d need at least a small army. How are we supposed to face a small army?” Harris’s words came out quicker than his thoughts.
Something shifted behind their position, breaking the tension. Williams pulled his handgun up and held his breath in an effort to steady himself. Even if they were outmanned, he would take as many of the jungle dancers as he could in the Vietnam night.
“Lieutenant, they’re over here.” Garcia emerged. Jackson’s hulking figure trailed the medic. “Did you…my God.”
Williams clicked the flashlight off, allowing darkness to sweep back over the area. He pretended they could not see, but he knew better. They would need to understand. Garcia backed away, holding his hand over his mouth.
“Chris, tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me that’s not Anuska and Jones up there,” Garcia pleaded with an intermittent cough.
“It’s them. It’s them,” Harris stuttered.
“Everybody just keep cool,” Williams said in a soft tone in an attempt to calm his worried men. They couldn’t panic, not out here.
He tried to think. Anger replaced fear, a quiet rage for his brothers. If the Viet Cong had made a mockery out of them, he wanted to return the favor.
“Where’s the VC?” Williams kept his eyes down, listening to the steady drip from Anuska’s boot.
“Over there,” Harris said. “By the water. Can see his silhouette.”
More footfalls as Donovan, Simmons and the rest of the band formed a small semi-circle around the bodies.
“Are you kidding me?” Simmons blurted out. “Like a piñata from Hell.”
The others stared, disbelief written across their faces, highlighted by the iridescence of the star-filled night. Williams felt their gaze run past him to their fallen brothers. Each one would mourn in their own way. This was not the first time, and it would not be the last.
“We’re so screwed,” Harris blurted out.
“You think that’s going to happen to us?” Donovan asked, nodding towards the human piñata.
“Sure as hell better not. Ain’t gonna happen to me at least. I’ll take down each one of those bastards if they try to pull this stunt on me,” Simmons said.
“Chris, seriously, what do you think happened? This is…this is impossible. To drag them through the jungle like that. The logistic aren’t there,” Garcia said.
“They’re toying with us. That’s what’s happening.” Donovan twirled around and pulled back on the bolt of his rifle. The others followed suit, spreading out, waiting to see if the enemy would emerge.
Williams hobbled out of the muck. He glanced down the vegetation-laden slope to the riverbank where Harris pointed. The water resembled a mirror, the stars glistening against the placid sheet like those lightning bugs in his grandfather’s backyard.
The VC starred across the river in silence as if waiting for someone to raft him across the River Styx. The peacefulness of it all contrasted against the brutality several yards away.
“Jackson. Donovan.” Williams waved them over.
Jackson drew first, followed by Donovan.
“He’s there.” Williams pointed down.
“Unbelievable. The animal has the audacity to stay here, even after all of this.” Donovan shook his head, his voice trembled, ready to break down at any moment. “Gook has a death wish coming his way. I’ll put a bullet in his head and string him up.”
Donovan rocked back on his heels, his fists clenching and opening. Every soldier had his or her way of dealing with stress. Donovan tended to hyperventilate before firing off several wild rounds in the enemies direction. He’d built a reputation among the Death Dealers for being reckless during combat, a college dropout taking his frustration out on a world that rejected him. It contrasted well against his normally calm emotions.
“I’m going down there. You two back me up.” Williams readied himself, drawing a path in his mind to shimmy down the slope.
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Cap.” J
ackson said.
“No argument.” Already half-dead, Williams thought his life was worth the potential sacrifice.
“Ok, then. You go on, but we’re here watching.” Jackson nodded. Donovan twitched.
“Garcia,” Williams called.
Garcia knelt a few feet from the others, muffled prayers coming from his lips. Williams admired his friend’s resolve. No matter how bad the news, Garcia always found time to remember his family, his brothers, and his beliefs.
“Garcia,” he called again. This time, he caught the medic’s attention. Garcia raised his head and made the sign of the cross.
“Yeah.” Garcia cleared his throat and wiped his nose.
“Take the others. Gather everything. We can’t stick around.”
“We’re going to move? We’re in no condition. We’ll be sitting ducks with no direction.”
“And we aren’t already?” Williams retorted, glancing up at the treetops surrounding their position. “Sticking around isn’t going to do us any good. We’re in the killbox, waiting to be slaughtered. I want us to have a fighting chance.”
“Is this about blaming yourself again? Stop being so self-absorbed and think for a second,” Garcia said. The intensity of the night had infected even his most devout soldier.
“In case you didn’t notice. That ain’t normal.” Donovan jumped in the conversation, pointing at the hanging soldiers. “Look at them. Simmons is right. It’s like they’re party favors for little kids. What type of human does that?”
“Guys, quiet,” McEvoy pleaded. Simmons laughed at McEvoy’s feeble attempt at playing diplomat.
“What would you know? You’re busy smoking your ass off in there, too damned high to hear anything,” Garcia said. “Waiting for el Diablo to come get you.”
“Oh, come on.” McEvoy threw his arms up.
“Let’s think this through, Chris. Conceivably, a whole platoon of them could’ve done this. Maybe even in the Dac Cong.” Garcia’s words resonated among the soldiers to draw them all to silence. The Dac Cong were an entirely different matter.
“No, we would’ve heard them.” Williams cringed when he allowed his mind to wander for a second. The Dac Cong—the North Vietnamese’s special forces—were more akin to rabid cannibals than humans. They ate, slept, and shit in the jungle. They were the jungle.
“Are you shitting me? They’re all the way out here in 10,000 BC?” McEvoy cursed.
“We’re as good as dead then. There ain’t even any use of us trying anymore.” Donovan ran his fingers through his hair. His normally dapper attitude fell victim to the moment.
“Harris, what’d you see out there? You were keeping guard?” Jackson nodded at Harris.
“I…uh…I,” the kid stumbled over his words.
“Well, what did you see?”
“I…” Harris couldn’t be more obvious.
“Wait a second.” Donovan joined Jackson. “Don’t tell me you fell asleep when this all happened. Jesus, how much of that dew did you have?”
The twine holding them together continued to unravel. A combination of sleep deprivation and stress could break the strongest of wills. Williams had to move them, to keep their minds busy. But first he needed to secure the only person who had answers.
“Ok. Quiet. Everybody. Just shut the hell up,” Williams said, keeping an eye out for their prisoner. “If we’re going to survive this, we’re going to survive this together. Fighting between us won’t solve a damn thing. We get everything together and move.”
He knew there was no logic in his actions, more desperation than anything. Garcia was right. Even if they marched for an hour, the hunters would follow them. But he needed to try something to keep them from sinking deeper.
“And what about Anuska and Brewer? We can’t just leave them here.”
“Cut them down. Bury them as best you can. We don’t need the dead following us around.” He hated saying it. “But first, take their cards. They won’t be buried with them.”
Williams looked down at their hostage. The devil, el Diablo as Garcia called him, was at work.
TWELVE
The river’s black waters bubbled at Williams’s feet, reminding him of another time that he would give anything to experience again. It was their first trip to Myrtle Beach, a time when jumping on hotel beds and drinking cheap margaritas seemed like heaven. He would give anything to hold her again. Anything.
I’m so sorry. I should be with you and not here. This is my fault.
He looked back at the prisoner. The VC sat along the riverbank behind him, rocking from side to side with child-like glee. His empty gaze drifted towards Williams, his eyes an abyss waiting for evil to fill them.
“Nobody but us,” Williams said, crossing his arms, keeping focused on the white noise the river produced. “Hard decision ahead. I’m wondering if I should take this flashlight of mine and leave another dent in your skull. Maybe I should tie you up with that vine you used to string my friends up.”
The VC rocked again, unwavering in his ambivalence. Williams expected as much.
Williams sighed and looked back up the monolith of a tree where he first saw the two glowing orbs come to life. He motioned to the treetops.
“They your friends up there? Maybe DC?” He rested his hands on his hips, his head warm and clouded with fever. He wouldn’t last much longer on his feet, but he needed to feign strength. “Or is there something else? Something we don’t know about this jungle of yours?”
A whiplash sound followed by a thud echoed behind them. His men had cut Anuska and the others down in an unceremonious manner. Williams bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes, wishing he could have served them better.
“I can’t say I blame you. This is your land. You must think we’re the devils, don’t you? Killing off your kind.”
Again, the VC remained quiet.
“Most wars have a purpose. Starts with some grand idea based on an ideology and slowly devolves in to something resembling two wild animals fighting each other. That’s what happened here. Idealism has no place in this conflict. We forgot our purpose, and they forgot about us. Hell, that’s one of the reasons why I came…to forget.” Williams stifled a chuckle. “And where do I end up? In the middle of the Jurassic Age. I’m half expecting a pterodactyl to swoop down and take us all away.”
He grabbed the gook’s shoulder and used him as support as he knelt, extending his right leg out in front of him. The ground welcomed his weight. His quads relaxed, alleviating the searing pain. He would have to change the bandage soon.
“Wouldn’t that be something if some tyrannosaurus came out and snacked on us? Wouldn’t be surprised with all the crazy shit that’s happened. First a tiger and the shadow of a little girl. Then there was your ambush. Golden lights. How you all managed to drag Anuska and Jones up a tree. Then there’s what you told McEvoy about spirits.” Williams had half a mind to believe what he heard. “Spirits.”
He removed the buck knife from his boot holster. The blade was a gift from his father, a World War II vet who’d once told him about the hell that was war. That was before he died.
“I came here to forget only to end up forgetting myself and not the past. Part of me thinks I should take a swim and allow the water to carry me away, right down the stream. Time would eventually forget me, as it has forgotten this place, your world. Maybe I could be with her, but I’m afraid that place isn’t meant for a person like me.”
He looked at the VC and smiled. There was something oddly comforting about confessing his sins to someone who couldn’t understand him.
“Those boys, my brothers, are paying for my decision to go into that village.” Williams pointed the knife behind him in the direction of the other six. “I could’ve said no. That was my mistake.”
He twirled the knife’s tip on his calloused index finger. It took all his energy to suppress his hatred for the VC. He wanted to slug him again, end his life with a slit of his throat, but they needed him. The VC knew the way
out of the unknown jungle.
“They’ll demonize us even more back home for what we did to your people. Most of them politicians could care less about us. They drive their fancy cars while we fight their war, a bunch of kids filled with testosterone. Ain’t no damn innocence here. None of us. You think you’re walking with God, then you look beside you and nothing. It’s all backwards.”
Williams shrugged.
“I can still see Anuska’s smile. He’s that guy you killed. He’d give all your village children candy and some other stuff from his personal stash. He’d do that for y’all. Short of letters from home, I think that’s what really kept his spirits up. He liked kids. He came here to help you all out, and you killed him. Talk about foreign hospitality. Anuska was a rock.” Williams’s eyes stung, his ducts growing moist with tears. “I already miss the bastard.”
Williams’s stream of consciousness spilled out. His listless friend appeared to be listening in silence, his eyes still locked on the river. Williams didn’t care. It was therapy for him.
“It all changed. No more smiles. Just looks of disdain. It was the third village, I think. Same reception. Everyone was carrying on, having a good old time. We were just checking for some of your VC buddies. We know how you all love to use those innocents as shields. Remember this buddy of mine named Hackett. He loved kids just like Anuska. I should’ve known something was off. Earlier that day, I saw one of the village kids, a little innocent thing, skinny and all. He was hanging around that same Jeep. I didn’t think anything of him at first. Kids like to explore curious things. But there was something about that boy’s face. It was kind of like yours, all sullen, no emotion, an empty look in his eyes. He just stared back at me for a few minutes and ran. I never saw a kid run so fast.”
Williams stopped twirling his knife and looked at his reflection in the blade.
“I still remember seeing Hackett pull away in that Jeep of his. Big damn explosion burned him alive. That’s when I learned about those tricks of yours. How you like to take those shitty Chinese grenades and tie them with rubber bands. Stick them in gas. Gas slowly eats the rubber band until it snaps, then—”