Ghost Platoon

From The World Is A Vampire
Jump to: navigation, search
Ghosts
Vietnam-soldiers-crater.jpg



Quote

"One bright morning in the middle of the night,"
"Two dead boys got up to fight."
"Back-to-back they faced one another,"
"Drew their swords and shot each other."

Songs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uAE6Il6OTcs {Alice In Chains - Rooster}

Soldiers of Ghost Platoon (a thirteen member circle of Vietnam War era army grunts)

Fire Team A

Fire Team B

The Nightmare that Never Ends

The trees were never silent in Viet Nam. There was always the noise from the monkey’s and birds, not to mention the soft rustle of heavy fronds rubbing together. I could smell the stale sweat off the men who traveled with me. Hell I reeked of it myself, nothing like 90 degree weather, with 90 to 100 percent humidity to make you sweat like a whore in church. There were eight men traveling with me. I had been out with them on several missions as I was medic attached to this unit. I stepped out of line, checking the men as they walked past me. The Lieutenant expected me to watch the men for health issues and moral, he thought I was pretty observant about people.

Sergeant Tom was in the lead where he liked to be. Tom is broad shouldered and narrow hipped with classic Irish good looks. He is an ornery bastard who like to fight more than any three men I had met. Tom could box, and was even pretty good in a knife fight. He loves the ladies and as I understood it he was here because a judge gave him the choice between service or jail. Tom figured if he could get paid to fight that would be even better.

Next in line is 'B-ball' Boyce. He is a good sized black kid from Alabama. His olive greens are damp with sweat, his black skin shiny with it. Being stuck in with this group of guys not of color has been tough on B-ball. He had to admit to himself that not all white guys were going to screw him. He told me a while back he was a Black Panther back in the world. Said he had a good time beating the shit out of white bread assholes like me. We had a tussle south of Phu Bi a while back and I was the only thing that stood between him and being overran by the Cong...We came to a more than passing friendship after that. B-ball carries that big 50 caliber, and grins like a maniac when he gets to shoot it at Gooks.

Peter 'FC' Turnbull walks past looking all around himself, giving me a nod as he wipes his brow. We are home town buddies, not that we knew each other back in the world. He and I both know our sections of Whacker boulevard, we both talk about going to Soldier field to watch football. It's good to share some basic things with somebody out in the shit. We call him FC because he is Fucking Crazy. I have never seen a man more determined to get in the shit and fuck people up. No feat of sillyness is beneath this slender man. He is light on his feet and fast with a joke. Probably the only man out here besides myself that don't smoke.

Padre is next in line. His name is Oliver Slazak but we call him Padre because he is a devout Catholic, and says his prayers every day. He talks all the time about his wife at home Mary Catherine. Poor guy about died when we took him to a gook whorehouse. I like Padre but I worry about him. Hard to be a stone cold killer out here in the bush when your worried about your immortal soul. Especially with these guys, we do some nasty shit, but that is what they send us to do.

Big Ben moves past me silently. Benigno Castellano is probably the biggest damn spic I have ever seen. They gave him the grenade launcher and told him to not cast too damn big a shadow. The funny part is he has the highest damn squeeky voice you ever heard. You would think the giants balls hadn't dropped yet with the way he sounds. He told me a while back that he sang soprano until a couple of years ago in his church. He and Padre say their prayers together from time to time. Ben comes from some dirt hole in the southwest, south and west of Albuquerque. He says all that is out there is sheep, indians, and more Spics. We butted heads more than once, as he didn't like me calling him a Spic, but all in all we get along now.

Thinking about Indians, Chief is next. None of us can say his name properly. He says he is Sioux, and his father really is a chief. We call him chief cause its easier than that gibberish he spouts as a name. He is not overly tall, but is powerfully built. He has let his hair grow out again and keeps it tied back in a braid. I hear him sometimes at night chanting to himself in his native tongue, and I wonder what it all means. Fucking heathen anyway.

Lieutenant Brant comes next. He's a funny guy. Melville Rastus Brant is a Bean Town boy who keeps stumbling around and being the most highly ranked guy that lives through the shit. He hasn't been a second Lieutenant very long, and having just stepped up from sergeant still sounds like one who grew up on Boston. Not sure who he pissed off to get saddled with this crew and sent out to BFE for a pleasant hike, but the guy seems destined to hike most of the Viet Nam at the rate he is going.

Tony stopped and looked at me, “Got a bad feeling about this Doc.” He said to me as he took a drag from his cigarette, looking behind us. As rear guard he spent a lot of time watching our back trail. Tony told me all the time how much he missed Coney Island, wanted to go home and help his mom. He also seemed a bit psychic, as his gut feelings often played out right. I stripped a piece of grass standing nearby and chewed the stem, listening to the jungle around us.

“It’ll be fine Tony; this is a pretty simple walk in the woods. HQ thinks Charlie is on the river, nobody close to us at all.”

Flash to bullets flying, the steady chatter of Big Bens' heavy fire. I saw Padre get clipped in the shoulder by a bullet, causing him to miss his shot. Mortar fire exploded close by, making my hearing go to only a ringing buzzing sound. Tom was waving to me, asking me to get closer to him. B-ball was missing the lower half of his right leg and arm. Crimson fluid darkened his clothes. I scrambled closer, feeling my skin covered in cold sweat. Scary amazing to be cold in such heat.

Bullets hit the tree near me, splinters stinging my face. I rolled left, another explosion rocking the earth ahead of me. I looked up and the Sergeant was leaning forward over B-ball. I reached out and grabbed his shoulder trying to get him to move so I could try to stop the bleeding. Tom slumped side ways, I could now see the majority of his skull was gone, sheared off. I shoved him out of my way; I couldn’t help him so he needed to move.

Now that I could see B-ball, his eyes were wide open, never blinking at the dirt dropping down on us. Too much blood loss, the ground here was sticky with it. Tony was yelling from behind me. I glanced at him; he indicated I should look up ahead of us. I lifted my rifle and shot at two VC that were running toward us. I hit the leader in the chest, his legs collapsing out from under him. The second one I thought I hit in the head, but I couldn’t be sure. If I did it was pure luck, as I was shooting by instinct, there wasn't time to aim.

Tony grabbed me, spinning me around. “Get the fuck out of here Doc; you gotta get those papers back. I think I can slow them down. Do your smooth operator thing and slide out.”

“Fuck that Tony! Let’s both get out, who the hell knows how many of them there are? Stay close and we’ll make a hard run for it.” He nodded at me; we both jumped up and ran flat out for the rocks fifteen yards or so up the hill. Bullets whined by. My pack jumped twice, but I felt no shock of pain. I went up and over the rocks, rolling to my knees. I spun around and started pumping lead back the way we came.
Tony screamed “Doc!!” and I spun to see a VC slam a knife into Tony. I shot the bastard with a three round burst. Something picked me up and slammed me up against the ground. My hearing was gone again, but I pushed my way over to Tony. He grabbed me, he was saying something but I couldn’t hear him yet. Hot blood ran down my cheek and dripped on him. I noticed that my helmet was gone. I reached up and touched the back of my head. My hand came back wet and sticky. My brain registered sound again, and I could hear Tony yelling at me.

“Doc! God damnitt Doc get the fuck out of here. I’m all fucked up. I knew this was a bad deal. I told you. What the fuck are you looking at Doc? Run damn it! Somebody’s got to get out, I don’t want to be buried here, and you gotta come back for me. You gotta make sure some of me makes it back to the Island. Help me Doc, help me get back home.”

The world turned sideways, light bled to dark, the air became cool. All was quiet. My ears weren’t even ringing. I tried to move and felt stuck. There were things on me. My arms were pinned. Struggling to move made everything in my body hurt, my scalp started to burn. Dirt fell in my mouth as I tried to turn, making me cough and gasp. Finally able to move my right hand I found my lighter in my vest pocket. Striking it I found myself surrounded by dirt and the deceased members of my unit. Struggling to move, I found that all I could do was slide forward and back. B-balls canteen was just within reach. I struggled to get situated so that I could drink.

Rolling over, I found myself face to face with Tony. His eyes were wide open, face slack in death. I remember the fear I felt when my lighter wouldn’t light anymore, the hunger burning in my belly. I remember the revulsion I felt as I took that first bite out of Tony’s skin. I remember thinking it was just a cold burger back home. I remember him telling me to eat more, cause he had to get out of there. I had to get out of the hole and get home, so that some of him could make it back home, back to Coney Island. I remember digging my way from man to man wanting to get some of all of them home...they really are a part of me now

Retrieved from "http://maierstorm.org/Vampire/index.php?title=Ghost_Platoon&oldid=81546"