The Ghosts of My Lai

by JC Braswell

  “The old-fashioned way?” Jackson questioned.

  “Like cavemen.”

  “I’ve got to be honest with you. If we stay here, we’ll be as good as dead,” Donovan said. “Hate to agree with Simmons at this point.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Williams stepped up to Donovan. “Doesn’t matter where we are. Trust me.”

  “All the more reason to keep moving. We don’t want to end up like Garcia or McEvoy.”

  Donovan cursed. Jackson didn’t budge, but the others each seemed to fidget. They were a broken group. Even if they found safety, Williams wasn’t sure they would survive the rest of their tours.

  “Look, our best bet is to get as much sleep as we can, possibly find some food, and take turns keeping watch. We’ll get up early tomorrow. I promise we’ll march until we can’t march anymore. Just give me this one day, guys.”

  Williams eyed them. They stood there, shoulders lowered, their bodies swaying with fatigue, uniforms marred by blood and dirt-soaked sweat. Each one of them stank of crap and body odor. None of them noticed. Like blind mice in a reptile shop, they were terrified at the thought of the inevitable.

  “Are we all in agreement?” Williams asked.

  “The hell with you.” Simmons turned around.

  “Well?” Williams prodded.

  “Not like we have much choice,” Donovan answered first, putting a hand on one hip. “I’ll give you one more day. But you’re right. I’m starving. Probably lost damn near fifteen pounds already.”

  “I’m in too. I’ll find a place up there and start the fire.” Jackson brushed past Williams.

  “What about you, Harris? One more day?”

  Harris pulled his shirt down and wiped his bloodshot eyes. Simmons smirked at him.

  “One more day,” Harris said.

  “Ok. Then it’s agreed. We stay here.” They needed to survive the night.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  “You feeling ok?” Jackson asked from across the campfire. Its light extended out until the waning moon’s light overwhelmed the orange hue, lighting up the leaves in a sea of silver and blue, shimmering across the hilltops like waves in the Atlantic. The dancing flames produced little warmth on the damp riverbank, but it was better than nothing.

  “Yeah, why do you ask?” Williams tied a blade of grass into a bow as he scanned the area around them, waiting for it to appear. Every sound, every shuffle, every breeze seemed amplified, plucking at his nerves. The only thing that sounded normal was the occasional plop of water from behind as a catfish fed on those damned mosquitos.

  “By that tree you were inspecting this morning. I saw that look in your eyes. Been meaning to ask you. Something set you off.”

  “Nothing.” Mentioning the odd carvings would only frighten the already near-hysterical Harris. “Just some claw marks or something.”

  Williams leaned back, using the rounded side of helmet as a prop for his head. His chest and legs felt warm. Gangrene must’ve set in, but he dared not look under the mangled bandage. Garcia had warned him that when the bacteria entered the bloodstream it would eventually find his heart. His days would end there.

  “You sure about that? I mean, you were awful quiet,” Jackson persisted.

  “Never been so sure of something in my life.”

  A sudden forceful splash of water erupted in the river.

  “Jesus, what was that?” Harris jumped up from his light slumber.

  “Here we go again,” Donovan answered, picking up his M1911A1 from the ground.

  Another vibration, almost look a whippoorwill, came from opposite their camp.

  “Up there?” Harris said, swung his head around. “Near the top of a tree.”

  “Maybe they’ve finally gotten tired of Williams’s antics.” Simmons sneered. He didn’t seem to give a damn.

  “God damn it. They’re surrounding us,” Donovan’s words echoed, almost supernatural in their longevity. “Whatever or whoever you are, just get out here.”

  “I’m sure that’ll put the fear of God in them.”

  “Could care less if it does or not. I just want this to be over, to know what’s or who’s been stalking us.”

  “You want to know what it is since none of you seem to be using common sense.”

  “What’s that?” Harris’ fingers fidgeted along the stick he was carving.

  “Since they only seem to come out at night, maybe it’s those VC’s spirits.”

  “Oh, come on.” Harris twisted to face Simmons.

  “Got to admit I’m starting to be a bit of a believer myself.” Simmons’s sardonic smile betrayed his true feelings. The bastard didn’t believe a word he said, choosing instead to toy with them. “They talked about them back in them hamlets. Why do you think we run across all them crypts and shit out here? It ain’t by mistake. Hell, remember that stone dragon that McEvoy pissed on? Maybe they didn’t like us insulting their caveman spirits. It’s all part of their backwards culture.”

  Williams swallowed at the mention of the mythic reptile. The distinct features of the dragon carvings flashed in his mind for a second, sending a tight shiver down his spine. Simmons chose to make a joke out of it. How wrong the overgrown ogre would be.

  “After what happened…I’m sure those spirits aren’t too pleased,” Donovan said, studying each tree along the horizon, his handgun firmly in his hand, almost dismissing the talk of spirits.

  “Which means we pissed off these spirits real bad,” Simmons said. He lay back, giving the least of a damn about whatever watched over them. “Spirits of long dead Vietnamese people. Stupid stories about dragons giving birth to these people.” He kicked his feet to the ground, spraying dirt on the fire.

  “Please, will you stop saying it’s spirits.” Harris gulped.

  “Jesus, Harris. I’m not being serious. Vietnamese ghosts. Give me a break. The Dac Cong are finally coming to get us boys.”

  “Maybe it’s just a family monkeys. I’ve seen a couple of them trailing us,” Donovan said. His fraught appearance, his crude eye patch, and sideburns as wild as the jungle reminded Williams of an old Civil War soldier snapshot. His Hollywood good looks were no more.

  “Yeah, maybe a monkey.” Harris shifted closer to Donovan. He didn’t appear so much a soldier as he did a child who yearned for his parents’s touch.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see shit with one eye.” Donovan drooped down.

  Williams remained focused on a particular branch where he thought he saw the familiar golden orbs hovering under the cover of the brush, staring at them, waiting for whatever retribution the supernatural wanted to levy.

  “Lieutenant…Chris,” Simmons asked.

  “What?” Williams didn’t bother to look over.

  “I realize we’re are at some sort of, as the French would say, impasse.” The barbaric dolt didn’t have a clue. “But honestly, and be honest with all of us, how the hell do you expect to lead us out of this hellhole when you can barely stand. I know you try and hide it, but that leg of yours looks like a stuffed turkey, and you’re always in the back of the group huffing and puffing.”

  “Please, by all means tell me what I’m feeling.” Williams cleared his throat. The two golden orbs flickered as a burst of thunder reverberated, lighting up the dark clouds’ underbelly with a shockwave of brilliant white. Another storm. Perfect.

  “There you go being all mean. I’m just trying to be nice now. How about we let bygones be bygones and let me head up the charge.”

  Williams said nothing, watching as the orbs glimmered, teleporting to another tree.

  “Or maybe there’s something deeper why you insist on leading. Maybe it’s something darker,” Simmons added.

  “Yeah, you got me all figured out.”

  “Damn it, Simmons,” Jackson said. “Be quiet.”

  “Excuse me. I’m addressing Captain America. You know, your captain,” Simmons mocked him. He was brazen for a cornered rat.

  “Go on, Simmons. I’m s
till listening.” Williams buttoned the top of his fatigues and pulled up his collar. His breath billowed out, evaporating in the sudden cold. He knew the supernatural chill all too well now. It only meant one thing: It was coming.

  “Yeah, I got you all figured out. Every college-educated officer is the same. You’re too weak to live with what happened. You think we’re too evolved to fight this way, and now you want to take us all with you. That’s it, ain’t it? You want us to die out here.”

  “And how do you figure?”

  “I heard what you and Garcia were talking about. I heard it all.” He spat another wad of the betel nut. “You’re just too spineless to understand war. You and your psychology mumbo jumbo where man is different from animal—that Aristotle bullshit.”

  “What do you know about Aristotle?” Donovan asked, but didn’t follow up with his usual sarcastic remarks.

  Williams watched as another set of golden eyes flickered into existence, then another, until the entire tree lit up like it was Christmas. He was sure the others could see it, or maybe it was just hallucinations.

  “Let’s just say that I ain’t the dumb country boy Williams wants to make me out to be. Oh, hell no. I actually paid attention in history class. I may not be able to divide big numbers, but we can talk about the wars and politics. That’s how I know about Williams’s mindset.”

  Simmons rambled on while the others kept their heads tilted towards the black-purple canopy.

  “He ain’t the only one. He was always heading down that road, and now that we took out those Viet Cong bastards back in the hamlet, he feels even worse about it.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Donovan said.

  “Oh, I don’t? Go on and look at him. That distinct look in his eyes. Shit. Next thing you know he’s gonna be getting naked and go running like Tarzan through the trees, searching for Jane. You know the stories I’m talking about.”

  “I’ve heard a few,” Harris chimed in. His voice was a few pitches higher, almost boyish in his delivery.

  “The jungle’s got him. Don’t it, Williams? I hate to break it to you, gringo, but your salvation nonsense ain’t gonna be worth a damn tomorrow when we’re all dead. Ain’t no redemption in war. So, allow me to ask again, and I hope for an answer. What makes you think you can lead us out of here? You ain’t so much as found us a clue to do so.”

  “I don’t,” Williams answered with the sharpness of a blade. “I don’t think we’re going to make it out of here.”

  He couldn’t lie anymore. If they stood any chance, they would have to embrace something that could take their souls. He couldn’t do it for them.

  “Wait, what did you just say?” Harris perked up.

  “We’re not making it out of here if we don’t find a way out tomorrow.” Williams squeezed Garcia’s dog tags tight. The fervent Catholic would frown upon his decision, his desire for everyone to look deeper and harness a side that cost most men their lives. But they needed to fight like never before. Simmons was right in a sense. They needed to walk that line between morality and survival at all costs.

  “Wait just a second. You’ve been telling us the whole damn time that we’re going to make it out of here. That we’re going to survive,” Donovan said, twiddling with his eye bandage. Like the rest of them, Donovan had forgotten about the interloper hiding in the perimeter.

  “Not the way we are now. If any of you are going to stand a chance tomorrow, I want you to fight for it. That’s what I’m telling you. We have two handguns and our knives. Everything else has been taken from us. And don’t tell me it’s by coincidence.”

  “What are you saying, Chris?” Donovan trembled.

  “Well screw you, Williams. Screw you and the horse you rode in on,” Simmons continued, “About time you admit you’re not a leader. Hell, back in My Lai you looked like a schoolgirl about to wet her pants because her best friend took one of her toys.”

  “And that makes us justified in what we did? Yes, Neanderthal. It has everything, everything to do with what we did.” Blinded by the madness, Williams wanted Simmons to see. “It isn’t because I can’t lead you out. It’s because this jungle doesn’t want to let us.”

  “You ok, Cap?” Jackson patted Williams on the shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up now.”

  “Who said I was giving up?” Williams glanced over to Jackson then back at the trees. The stars disappeared as the storm clouds chased closer. He had to confess his sins. “No. Our best chance was with the VC before Simmons decided to execute him. I could’ve let him go, to tell his buddies. But I didn’t. I held him for my own selfish reasons. It wasn’t just to get us out of here. Although Simmons pulled the trigger, I killed the man in cold blood.”

  “Now you’re sounding like my father,” Jackson followed Donovan’s words. “Getting all preachy-like. Scary.”

  “It’s the truth. I wanted redemption,” Williams responded in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “I knew it. I told you he’s losing it,” Simmons said. “It’s all about him.”

  “What’s that for?” Harris asked. “Redemption?”

  “This is just a damned mess.” Donovan tossed another handful of twigs on the fire. The wood crackled as flames.

  “We all have our demons, don’t we? Even before this war we had our demons.” Williams bent forward, his dreams from the last two nights fresh in his head. The images were not by coincidence. “I came here to exorcise mine. But back there in that village, that wasn’t exorcising. That was a massacre. And we deserve whatever’s coming our way.”

  “Told you he can’t take war. Ain’t nobody gonna say what we did was bad. Nobody,” Simmons said.

  “You’re…you’re sounding as mad as Garcia did before he died,” Donovan followed.

  “Come on, Harris. Cut these bindings and we’ll get the hell out of here. Promise I won’t hurt any of you. Just give me a chance,” Simmons demanded, digging his heels into the dirt.

  “Don’t you get it? We spilled innocent blood. This earth soaked it up. I should’ve stopped you. Called you off,” Williams said. “Now this damned jungle won’t let us go.”

  Silence followed, an uncomfortable stillness where one didn’t know what to say.

  “I held the camera,” Donovan mumbled, breaking the tension. “It was me. I held the camera.”

  “What’s that?” Williams focused on Donovan.

  “Those pictures you saw of McEvoy and the girl. I held the camera. Sure, Simmons egged him on, but I was there. McEvoy took that girl. It was just an ongoing joke with us to mess with village girl, but those people deserved it. We found a stash of weapons under her father’s house. I don’t…know what I was thinking.” Donovan sulked away, obviously ashamed.

  “Oh, God. Someone get him some tissue paper,” Simmons mumbled.

  “There are things you don’t know, LT. Things we talk about when you’re not around. McEvoy had a dark side to him. Always felt like he wasn’t good enough for his dad and all. That’s why he joined the army. Wanted to gain his old man’s approval. You should’ve seen him through the weeks. He just broke down, hid it at first, but that resentment of his eventually surfaced.”

  “And here we go with that animal-human bullshit.” Simmons kicked the ground again.

  “What’s that have to do with the girl?” Williams’s throat tightened, still focused on the tree. He knew Donovan was a bit of a chauvinistic ass, but he would never condone rape.

  “McEvoy thought the girl was pretty. It didn’t help that he was a virgin. He thought he was going to die. Never going to make it out of Vietnam.” Donovan wiped the building tears. He caught his breath, on the verge of breaking down. “He ripped that girl’s clothes off like a freaking jackal. God, I can still hear her screams. I should’ve stopped him. She still haunts me.”

  “You too?” Jackson said.

  “That one picture you saw. She was looking at me. She wanted me to help her, but I couldn’t. Thought she deserved it for what her
dad hid from us. McEvoy did it to her until there was blood, then he cut her ponytail off and left her there, naked and just…I don’t want to say it. I know whatever came for him is gonna come from me. I can’t believe what I’m saying, but you’re right. It won’t let us out.”

  “Why the hell are you spilling your guts right now?” Harris asked.

  “Because we need to. Williams is right. There are some things we shouldn’t have done over here. We have our demons. We treated those girls like toys for our amusement. I guess that’s why I couldn’t pull the trigger back in My Lai. I was just too overcome with guilt. Shit, all I had to do was get a girl drunk back in university. Now…out in this hellhole, you either have to pay or take. Kind of like cavemen.”

  “Ain’t nothing separating those kids with VC. Those little kids with rifles, blowing us away. The hell if we did something wrong,” Simmons insisted.

  “That doesn’t make it right. If we stoop to their level, then we’re lost,” Williams said. His chest seized with anger at the thought of Donovan’s participation in the rape. They had fallen too far.

  “Screw those people. Screw them all. You know how they look at us. They want us dead.” Harris’s narrow cheeks trembled as he sprang to his feet. The kid had snapped. “This ain’t right. This ain’t right at all. They deserved everything we gave them.”

  “Are you saying we’re meant to die here?” Jackson asked.

  “Maybe.” Williams kept his eyes towards the ground. “You can’t tell me you feel something different. How do you explain how we got here in the first place?”

  The fire snapped again. The chill bit at him harder. It found its way to Williams’s bones.

  Harris paced behind Jackson and Donovan.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but something Garcia mentioned struck a chord with me. It makes too much sense,” Williams said.

  “Garcia was sick. He was dying,” Harris ignored Williams’s comment. He was in his own world. “He told me he saw Jesus. How crazy is that?”