Vietnam, 1975
Camp
John Winchester woke up to the smell of Napalm. Rolling over to the side of his cot, he gagged and dry heaved, but did not throw up. Considering the intense heat and humidity in Vietnam during the summer, John was grateful since the smell of vomit can last hours in the sweltering heat. Getting up, John stretched and walked over to the water latrine. Grabbing a cup, he scooped up some water and drank deeply. The cold water hit his stomach and he nearly doubled over with cramps. Putting his cup back in the water, John poured it over his head to wake himself up. Today, he had duty in the jungle and needed to be alert. No matter how he felt, he was not going to let his men down.
Walking over to his cot, he grabbed his machine gun and clothes and walked to showers. John walked as he always did with a purpose. Nodding to some of his fellow Marines, John planned to hit the showers, grab some chow and get his letters. Mail arrived in camp every day and usually about once a week; John got a letter from Mary. Marines always shared their letters from their wives and girlfriends. Bad news from home was put on the boards and guys who had been dumped were given the day off by their commanding officers. John lived in fear of the day he would receive his own "dear John" letter, but that had yet to happen. If Mary was going to dump him, he prayed that she would wait until he returned home. He could deal with it better if he was at home.
Shaking his head, John showered and got dressed. He was thinking like an idiot. Worrying about whether or not Mary would leave him wasn't going to keep him alive. He had to focus on the job at hand until he could get home.
"Mail call!" yelled a male voice.
John nearly dropped everything he was carrying to run toward the mess tent where they handed out mail. Other soldiers were also in dead run, hoping for news from home. Soldiers bombarded the officer in charge of mail and he nearly fell from so many outreached hands. Over the din, John did manage to hear the names being called out and packages being thrown around.
"Simon! Lawrence! Paine! Butler! Winchester!" John managed to get to the front of the line and grab a handful of letters to him. One was from his mother. Another was from his older sister. A third was from Mary. Stuffing the other letters in his pant pocket, John ripped open the letter from Mary and held his breath. What he read made his drop the letter. Mary was pregnant. According to her letter, she was at least six months along. She explained that she had waited to tell him until she was sure that she would not lose the baby in the fourth month as women sometimes did with their first pregnancies. She told him that she and the baby would wait for him to return from his tour of duty and that she loved him very much. She ended her letter by telling him that angels were always watching over him.
John walked around camp in a daze. He had left Kansas for his third tour of duty in Vietnam six months ago. The war was coming to a close and the Marines had asked John to come back to Vietnam to help US troops clear out of the country. John's company Echo 2-1 was flushing out the rest of the Viet Cong along the XXXX river. The mission was considered dangerous since the remaining Viet Cong troops were viciously attacking any American soldier or troop. John told Mary before he left that he was unsure of he would make it out alive, but she steadfastly refused to consider that John would die. They spent a week on vacation prior to John's deployment with most of that time spent in their hotel bedroom. John had always known that he would marry Mary, but he never intended for her to get pregnant when he was out of the country. He wanted to be there when his kids were born.
"Hey Winchester!" called out a voice. John turned to see his friend, Dean Winters, approaching him. Dean and John had joined the Marines at the same time in 1968 and John considered him one of his closest friends. Dean was about 2 inches shorter than John with a brushy flat top and green eyes. Dean was a true ladies man and often tried to get John into trouble. "Come on man," Dean would beg, "you're 3000 miles from home. Mary's never gonna find out." But John would never give in to temptation. Mary and his life with her was too important to screw it up for one night of pleasure. Still, John loved Dean like a brother. He and Dean planned to open a garage back in Kansas. At night, while lying awake listening for any signs of the Viet Cong, the two men would discuss their plans: wives, kids, cars and weekends watching football or hunting. Talking about the future helped them cope with the present.
"So what's up man?" quizzed Dean. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
John stopped walking and carefully folded Mary's letter in half. "Mary's pregnant."
Dean's mouth dropped open. "Seriously?" John nodded. "Are you sure its yours?"
John's face changed completely. Dean actually took a step back and held up his hands. "Look dude, I was just asking."
John just continued to glare at Dean and suddenly, he turned and walked off. Sometimes, thought John, Dean went too far. Hearing Dean's footsteps behind him, John stopped and turned.
Dean looked at John and spread his hands, "I'm sorry John." "I did not mean anything by it."
John sighed. "I know man." Dean looked at his friend with concern. "What are you going to do?"
John looked at Dean confused. "What do you mean?" "It's my kid and Mary's my wife."
Dean shook his head. "She's not yet and besides man, we may not make it out of here alive."
John walked over to Dean until they were face-to-face. "Don't say that and don't ever talk about Mary that way again."
With that, John walked away from Dean. He was shaking with anger. He was determined to live and now with a baby on the way, he had even more reason to fight his way home. He knew that Dean didn't mean it, but Dean lived his life too wildly to fight for anything beyond his own survival.
Walking toward the command center, John shouldered his gun and straightens his shirt. As a corporal, he had to keep himself together, especially in front of his commanding officer. Opening the door, John was hit by a blast of air conditioning. His commanding officer, Curtis Hathaway was a no-nonsense man who took his command very seriously. Rumors abounded throughout camp that Hathaway had taken down one of his men in the field when the soldier didn't perform up to task. John didn't know whether that was true, but he always kept his nose clean and made sure the men under his command did the same. Looking at Hathaway, John was eager to find out his orders and get out of there. Something about that man made him uncomfortable. John always considered himself a loyal man, but he had to admit to himself that he would not take a bullet for Hathaway. Hathaway peered over his glasses at John and blew out a puff of cigar smoke in John's direction.
"Winchester," said Hathaway chewing on his cigar, "I need you to take your unit to Xuan-loc."
The name made John's head snap up. He looked at Hathaway somewhat shocked. John considered himself to be a tough-ass, but even he was afraid to go into area of the province. 40 miles east of Saigon, Xuan-loc was the last stand against the North Vietnamese who had already taken over the northern half of the country. Rumors abounded throughout the camp that Xuan-loc was haunted. John knew men who went there and rarely returned alive. Those that did were usually sent home catatonic. John wanted to go home alive and sane for Mary and the baby. Going to Xuan-loc was not in his plans.
"Sir," John began. "I don't see why my men and I need to go there. We have lost this war. The best that we can do is decamp, go back to Saigon and head home."
Hathaway stared at John, and for a moment, John could have sworn that the man's eyes glowed yellow. "We need to make sure that area is secure before we return to Saigon."
"But sir," began John. But Hathaway cut him off with a flick of his wrist. "You will take your men into that area Winchester and you will make sure that area is secure. Is that understood?"
John sighed. He knew that he had no choice but to follow Hathaway's orders. "Yes, sir." replied John. He saluted Hathaway and turned to walk out the door. Reaching for the handle, John was stopped by a burning smell. It wasn't cigar smoke. Sulfur, perhaps? Figuring the stress of the last hour was playing tricks with his mind; John shook his head and opened the door. The heat blasted in on him and nearly drove him to the ground. John managed to stay on his feet and started moving. Today was going to be a long day.