Day One

The jungles of Vietnam were hot. More than the booby trapped fruit, more than the shit covered Punji sticks, more than Charlie camping out in the trees, Sergeant Bach hated the heat. Born in Munich, Germany, and spending a vast majority of his early life there, he had never had to deal with heat. After his mother died, he emigrated to the United States, and in gratitude for his new home, he had enlisted in the army. Some would say war was in his blood, though he didn't like when people said that. It didn't matter much. He was here now, fighting Charlie so that South Vietnam could stay free. Every day, he patrolled through the jungles outside of the camp and hunted Charlie down in his foxholes.

Bach was the commander of the third platoon. He had gotten to that position through blood and sweat, and the people under him still hated him more than they did Charlie. To them, Charlie was an animal. Bach was a monster. All because someone had snuck in and read Bach's personal file, and spread all his dirty little secrets to the others. No one said anything, but it was there all the same. O'Donnell had a bag full of scalps, Phil had collection of ears, and Tedrow just liked shooting people. But Bach was the monster.

Maybe he really was. Because, the more he fought, the more he came to enjoy the fighting. That's why he was in his third tour, and while everyone else counted down the days to when they'd be able to kiss the jungles behind and have a cold beer in their favorite pub back at the states, Bach hoped the war would last long enough for him to go for a fourth tour, if that was even legal. He was born into war. He would probably die here. If not here, he would die in some other place. If the war came to an end, he would find another war somewhere else. Humanity never had a shortage of conflicts. And in that new squad, he would make sure that no one found out about what he was. Or find a platoon who just didn't care, somewhere deep inside Europe or Africa.

When they reached the stream four klicks outside of Firebase Echo, Bach lifted his hand in a show of the squad to stop. They may not have liked him, they may not have even respected him, but they did as he ordered. Bach had a reputation as an efficient leader. The base's captain had him go out, as much because the captain didn't want to be in the line of sight as they knew Bach could lead with some competence. The men cared about surviving. They could survive with Bach.

The platoon spread behind trees and pressed onto the earth, covering themselves with makeshift tarps. Tedrow took up a perch in one of the trees. He could climb like a monkey when he had to, and straddled a branch, adjusting his M-16 to his eye and waiting.

Setting up the claymores fell to Bach. No one else would do it. They wanted to be behind cover as much as possible. Bach didn't care. He wouldn't put his trust in the grunts. And besides, Charlie's patrol wouldn't be for another two hours. He had plenty of time to lay his traps, before moving to his position. Bach was the squad's heavy gunner, and so used an M60 in conjunction with Roger, who fed the belt into the machine. He lay flat on the floor, in the plants and grass, and waited for the enemy to come down the trail that had been beaten. Fox, who was in charge of reconnaissance, had noticed this trail a week ago, and spent the next five days watching it. The VC used this trail to transport weapons from a base the platoon hadn't discovered yet, and funnel them into Cambodia. Charlie had been quiet as of late, not touching the firebase, not razing any friendly towns. Bach assumed they were either focusing on an offensive in Cambodia, or preparing to raze Firebase Echo when they had the manpower and weapons. So it was up to Bach to play interference.

An hour passed. Charlie came through this trail every week, a different day but the same time: when the air was at its coolest (which wasn't very cool). But the Viet Cong needed to travel long distances, and even if they had the endurance, their beasts of burden didn't. Besides, they figured the Americans were fat slobs who wouldn't take any real action. Bach smiled slightly. Shit for them.

It was after two hours that Bach started to get a little antsy. So did his squad, but not one of them would pass their head out of cover unless he did it first. Besides, soon enough, Charlie came through all the same.

The only problem was, it wasn't a convoy, or a platoon. It was three lone Viet Congs, running and shouting through the woods and over the trail. A quick glance at them showed only one was armed with their beloved AK-47. The other ones weren't carrying anything substantial. Sure, there were pistols on their belts and knives in their boots, but nothing real, which struck Bach as odd. Of course, there were other tactics for the VC to use. There had been one story of them strapping children with a dozen sticks of dynamite and sending them towards a marine position. The fuses were set to go off just when the children reached inside the base. Of course, then in the second attack, the children wouldn't have anything strapped to them, and the marine who thought he was saving his comrades would face the horror that he had just shot a four year old through the head for no reason. It occurred to Bach that this might have been a similar trick. Those three Viet Cong might be strapped with explosives. If anyone came out of cover to capture them, the Viet Cong would set off their grenades and blow themselves and the poor fool to smithereens. Or these three men may been a decoy. Their death was almost assured, but if Bach and his men opened fire, some Viet Cong snipers in the trees would see the muzzle flash and know where to shoot.

The problem was solved when the Viet Cong set off the tripwires. The claymores that lay in front of them exploded. Charlie was a little fuck and a bitch to kill, but even he couldn't stand up to two pounds of plastique and seven hundred ball bearings. Multiply that by three, and you had what killed the three enemies. Overkill, but Bach had honestly been expecting a whole caravan. That did not excuse the possibility of snipers, but Bach's instincts said this was something else. He stood up and approached the bodies. After a few minutes of no shooting, his platoon rose and joined him in looking over the bodies.

"They got any supplies?" Bach asked.

Roger plucked the AK-47 from the mangled corpse of the body. The stock had been destroyed in the blast, but he managed to lift it and fire off a few shots. "God damn, these things are indestructible. Why the fuck don't we have guns like this? The fucking M-16, self cleaning my ass."

"You're free to carry whatever you want," Bach said. "But I can tell a rifle by its sound. And if I hear an AK going off in our ranks I'm likely to think it's one of the VC monkeys. I'm going to stop it if no one else does."

His soldiers didn't like him, and he didn't like his soldiers. It had worked out so far.

"Something not right," Francis said. "These guys don't have any explosives, any extra ammunition, no extra weapons. They weren't runners, they weren't trappers, they sure as hell weren't scouts with how they were screaming. So what does that mean?"

"It means you and O'Donnell are coming with me."

"Why me?" O'Donnell grumbled.

"Because there might be some scalps to collect, you sick fuck. Now come on."

Bach had really picked O'Donnell because, even for his twisted collection, he was one of the few who actually believed America was doing something good here. That was something that was even lost on Bach by now. Bach believed in America, but if he had to be honest, he was here for the thrill of the kill and no other reason. He brought Francis because Francis didn't care about that blasted personnel file that Private Begin had stumbled upon and shown to everyone.

It was a four hour walk through the hot jungle until they reached the Viet Cong camp. Or perhaps it was a Vietnamese town. It was never easy to tell. But there were wooden houses and shacks, farming area, pens for wildlife. But there wasn't one living thing as far as Bach could tell. He lowered his binoculars, traded his M60 for the M-16 assault rifle that O'Donnell carried, ordered both to provide covering fire should the need arrive, before heading into the town alone.

At first, he sought a stealthy approach. He entered the town from a flank instead of down one of the roads, and stayed behind buildings or in the trees, but soon enough he found that there was little purpose. The town was completely empty.

XXX

"Three Viet Cong dead, sir," Bach said, standing before Colonel Scott.

"Only three? Usually you take out twenty or thirty when you go on patrol. And the men mentioned you went on reconnaissance to a VC town?"

"Something like that, sir."

"Care to explain? This is going in the official report after all."

Bach spent a moment rubbing his eyes. "I…I don't even know where to begin. Fox had been monitoring VC movement. There was activity we were supposed to squash, set up everything fine. But then three VC come running, screaming like madmen. I investigated the way they had come, and found a ghost town."

"Casualties?"

"Three. I discovered them in one of the houses. Didn't look like any VC or marine work I had seen before. Their chests were…it was like their heart exploded out of their body. But, there were no wounds on the back. I had thought at first that they had been executed with a shotgun to the back, but there was no entrance wound. And no exit wounds, so, maybe they were forced to swallow a grenade. I heard the VC do that to traitors. But then there would be some damage to the back. Just makes no sense."

"That aside, did you find anything?"

"No sir. Other than that disturbing development, it seemed like the VC population moved on to somewhere else. Maybe they figured they were compromised, but I have no clue what could make three of them come running at us. They had to know this firebase was down the road, so even if we didn't hit them there, it was a dead end."

"No one ever accused the VC of being smart."

"They're not stupid either. Sir, I have to ask, is there some sort of bio weapon that's being tested in this area? I've seen a lot of things, but never a man's heart explode out of his chest like that. Or anything that could scare Charlie that bad to come running into the lion's den."

"If the Company was testing something, I wouldn't know about it anyway." The colonel rubbed his eyes. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

"We all are sir," Bach said kindly.

The colonel shook his head. "Suppose Charlie is planning an offensive. What then? How many men do you think will fight?"

"Oh, they'll all fight, sir. All anyone wants to do is make it out of this god forsaken jungle alive. They won't go looking for the enemy, but if the enemy comes here, they'll fight tooth and nail. Can't say how much good they'll do, but we have at least a hundred bodies at this base. Slap an M-16 in their hand, and as long as it doesn't jam, they'll be able to kill a few bad guys."

"You really think so…"

"Yes I do," Bach said sharply, cutting off the colonel from using his given name. He was sure the colonel would, he always did, and it got annoying. Bach knew this rhythm to their conversations.

"I don't see why that bothers you so much. Just a name."

Bach sighed. "Try telling that to the Jew."

Colonel Scott tried to change the conversation. "If Charlie comes over the walls, you think Private Begin will fight?"

"As long as he can fight without helping me. He doesn't much like me, you know."

The colonel sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Go out on patrol tomorrow, see what turns out."

"Yes sir," Bach said, saluting, before walking out of the underground base.