1964, 18th June

Southern Vietnam,

The Forest was silent. Too silent for my taste.

I couldn't blame the birds though. It was the American government who killed every single living thing in this area. I wasn't sure what it was exactly, but from the bits and pieces of American language I could understand, it was a chemical called "Agent Orange", which was sprayed all over the forest, using helicopters and aircraft.

Well, that would explain the gas masks every member of my platoon had to wear.

Our mission was to go through the forests, and clear out remaining Vietnamese guerillas. Being conscripted and all, this sort of job didn't appeal to me at all. The Vietnamese people had the grim determination which was shared my his father who fought the Japanese until his brutal execution. I just couldn't stop alluding the Americans to Japanese soldiers, and the Vietnamese to his country, Korea.

Right now, however, that didn't matter. My job was a search and destroy. Not a connect and weep. To strengthen my resolve, I bit my own tongue, and grabbed my shotgun firmly. It was a Winchester 1912 trench gun, donated by the Americans to the Koreans in favor for their newer, and more powerful, M16 rifles.

I was a veteran, and killed plenty of Viet Kongs with this shotgun, and more often than not, this shotgun was my only friend: Many fellow troopers were impaled by traps, or picked off by Vietnamese snipers. Truth be told, I was probably the most experienced out of all the soldiers present in his platoon: Even more so than his arrogant Lieutenant.

After around a 20 minutes march into the forest, the platoon was able to see two Viet Kongs. One of them were lying down, presumably dead. Another was on his knees, weeping. The platoon approached them, raised the guns, and aimed it to the weeping Viet Kong.

The Lieutenant shouted to the surviving Viet Kong to stand up, with his hands in the air.

Without any warning, the Lieutenant's leg was blown to pieces when he approached the Viet Kong: The Viet Kong was surrounded by Land Mines.

As the platoon's designated medic tried to approach the fallen Lieutenant, a sharp crack was heard, and instantaneously, the medic's jaws fell right off. He attempted to scream, but was quickly silenced with a shot to the head.

It was an ambush, and my platoon walked right through it.

The next man to die was the one with perhaps the most threat to the vietnamese soldiers: The man with the flame throwers. He was riddled with machine gun fire, even before he realized what was going on.

A bloody firefight ensued.

One by one, my fellow infantrymen fell to the quick bursts of the AK-47 and the semi auto carbines. I faked my death, and buried myself under the man with the flamethrower. His blood and guts oozed all over his body, and numbed my sense of fear.

Presumably without any officer to help them out, the recruits lost their will to fight, and attempted to run. Three of them were blown upon by mines, and the rest were quickly shot down. One of the soldiers still tried to escape with one of his leg riddled with splinters. His escape was in vain: the unlucky bastard on yet another booby trap. A wooden spike impaled his head, and that was that.

Eventually, the guns stopped firing, after the Viets realized that everyone was dead. The surviving ambushers all approached the bodies of my dead comrades, so that they can loot my Platoon's equipment, just like how flies were attracted to light.

I could hear the men speaking foreign languages, and saw them proceed to bayonet every single one of the bodies, to make sure everyone was dead. I knew that, if I continued to lie down in this mess, I would die without taking any of those bastards with me.

I slowly picked up the flame throwers, and waited for the moment in which the Vietnams approached me. Moments before one of the suckers was about to puncture my head, I pulled the trigger on the flamethrower. I rose from my dead comrade, and proceeded to burn the vietnamese soldiers.

As they were being burnt, I could see that they were in a state of terror. Their ability to stay in control were in shambles, and their aim was messy, not being able to hit me at such close range. Some tried to flee, as if a man rose back from the grave to kill them off (It wasn't strictly false, as that was exactly what I intended to do). All of those bastards were burnt to a crisp, their flesh smoking from all the heat, and their beautiful screams were echoing across the forest.

That was when I, Sergeant Dong Hwa, realized that I was the worst of them all: A psychopath who enjoyed smelling the scent of burning flesh, the melody of their screams, and sweet, sweet revenge.

...

As the bodies continued to burn, I heard a large, artificial humming sound from a distance. I looked up, and realized that a helicopter had come to either evacuate him, or spray more Agent Orange on the forest, and kill me off.

A ladder came down, along with a strange, middle-aged Yankee woman with grey hair, and flashy clothes of blue and red. A business man with a ski mask suddenly appeared right behind her, out of god damn thin air.

When the woman reached the ground, she spoke in a language I didn't understand. The bodyguard was quick to translate the foreign language to Korean.

"Sergeant Dong Hwa, we have seen your ability to fight against overwhelming odds, and I am impressed with your performance. I would like to ask you if you would want to work as a prestigious employee of the TF industry, instead of being a poor cannon fodder in this meaningless war."