Hi, everyone. I thank all of you who have read my fics in the past. And now, with my latest fic, I have to explain a few things.
First off, do not be put off by the first few chapters in this story. This is a retelling of the film Princess Mononoke, with a new character. This is not the first time it has been done, but I have never seen such a fic completed. So, I decided to write one myself.
This idea first came to me the night I first saw the movie over two years ago. The idea was reinforced by another fic I read, and I just decided to publish it. It may seem like a different story at first, but it eventually crosses over into the movie.
One more note: this story may be rated T (aka PG-13), but the first few chapters can be labeled as R (for language and violence). Come chapter four, however, the story will be back to PG-13.
Well, that's all I need to say right now. Read on, and have fun.
Being Alive
"We depict hatred, but it is to depict that there are more important things."
-Hayao Miyazaki
"Bad things happen in life, but we still find reasons to keep on living."
Osa, a short-lived, but important, character in the film Mononoke-Hime
November, 1967
The semi-cloudless noon sky allowed the sun to beat down upon the vast landscape of Indochina. It was a hot day, even in November, but it was expected, what with the land being so close to the equator. The heat was secondary, however, to the daily clashes happening across the country.
Somewhere on the southern end of the long strip of land that made up South Vietnam, a massive C-130 transport aircraft landed in a hot, lifeless airstrip. The place was inhabited several groups of soldiers and their vehicles, including arrays of jeeps and helicopters. However, despite the activity in the area, nothing really seemed to be alive in the midday sun.
The bay at the back of the plane opened, and a dozen new recruits stepped off onto the dust, carrying their duffle bags with them. They were in the ideal shape of the new soldier; their hair regulation-clipped, their bodies fitted with new, green fatigues, and their faces anxious to meet the new challenge they were most certainly expecting.
One of the young recruits was Dante McManus, a young man of about 17. He measured about 5 feet, ten inches, with dark red hair. Although a bit young for military regulations, he had been allowed in as one of the up-and-coming young recruits. He had enlisted right after graduating high school early, against the wishes of his parents; and, after six months of basic training, he had been sent right on the plane.
And here he was, a new piece of fresh meat, his face tense, innocent, bewildered, with eyes searching for the truth. The look was the same on all the recruits.
Their eyes fell on a motorized cart pulling other carts full of long black bags. The bags had hundreds of flies buzzing around them, being the cue as to what was inside. Two men started to lift the bags, one at a time, to the ground.
Some of the soldiers could not contain their shock. "Oh, hell" one recruit said.
"That's not what I think it is, is it?"
"What the hell else could it be?"
Dante didn't take his eyes off them, either. Not until the assigned Sergeant came up to the group.
"All right, punks, welcome to the Nam. Follow me."
They all picked up their duffle bags, and followed in suit. As they moved out, they passed half-dozen veterans, who were heading towards the airlift. They all looked happy. Very happy, as a matter of fact.
"Well. well, what have we got here? Fresh meat!"
"I'll be dipped in shit! New ones!"
"You boys are gonna love the Nam!"
"Forever, baby!"
All of the veterans passed by rather quickly, except for one at the back of the group, who walked slower than the rest. Dante locked his eyes on the man, and he stared right back. His eyes were frightened, hollow, starved, and dangerous. Just the look from that man sent a chill down Dante's spine. It was as if he wasn't real. Just a ghost, or something. His eyes never left the man, until he had gotten onto a plane with the others.
As they headed on into the sun-blazed dust bowl, Dante could only think about what lay ahead. And, for the first time, it didn't look promising.
As bad as the desert had been, the jungle was a hundred times worse.
As the heat built up, the youth could barely see or hear anything around him. The humidity was turning the jungle into a giant green blur, and the surrounding sounds, be they the cutting of shrubbery by a machete, the stomping of combat boots on rough soil, or the heavy breathing of soldiers, became barely audible noise. Was it a coincidence that he felt sick?
Dante had his machete in one hand, whacking out the bush to clear a path for the platoon. He looked like he was about to drop from heat exhaustion. He was breathing too hard, stumbling, pacing himself wrong, running into trees, and otherwise looking just plain pathetic in the jungle setting. As an urban transplant, the sudden switch didn't go over very well for him.
The rest of the platoon followed behind him. Being a fresh, new Private, he had been assigned to clear a path. The other soldiers, many of them veterans of a few months, moved slowly in their slept-in fatigues, their eyes tired but alert. They'd seen what the jungle was capable of.
As Dante hacked away, the pains in his feet were becoming greater. Although he couldn't see them, he knew the blisters were getting ready to bleed. Pretty soon, he'd have something worse than trench foot to deal with. But the pain in his feet was only secondary to the exhaustion the heat was bringing him.
As he continued on, he smelled something very unpleasant. He rounded another tree, and looked to find a most unpleasant site: a ten day-old Vietnamese soldier, decaying, flies and worms feasting through the eyes and other places.
"Unghh…" He could barely draw in his breath, clutching his mouth, a terrified look on his face.
The platoon Sergeant, Leroy Miller, walked up behind Dante, eyeing the dead VC, and looking back at Dante. "Well, what're you waitin' for? He ain't gonna bite you. Keep moving."
With a look of resentment apparent in his eyes, Dante crashed on.
Later, as the platoon kept moving, the squad captain, Chris Gibson, sitting next to the radioman, speaking into the radio.
"Foxtrot Three, Nine. I don't know what the hell's holding you up back there, but you need to get a move on. The squads will be linking up at Phase Line Whiskey for urgent business, and I won't accept any excuses for being late." He hung up the radio. "Lazy bastards."
A man walked up to Sergeant Miller, carrying his radio.
"Two-Six says we're jamming 'em up back there. We need to speed up."
Miller scoffed. "Tell that dipshit to get fucked." He turned away from the Lieutenant, over to another soldier. "Connolly! Get that other freshmeat up here, Harper!"
Steven Connolly, a blond Corporal, turned to yell down the hill where several soldiers were having a rest.
"Hey, Harper! Get your black ass up here! Now!"
A young black soldier named Ken Harper made his way up the hill, grumbling angrily to himself as he wiped the sweat off his face.
Back up on the hill, Miller picked up his pace, irritated at the reprimand from his CO. He kept walking until he turned around a tree – only to spot Dante, on his knees, soaked from head to foot in sweat, looking dizzy and about to vomit.
The Sergeant slumped over to the red-haired recruit. "Christ, McManus, again? I'm not gonna tell you a third time! Keep up, unless you fancy losing yourself in this shithole!"
Dante slowly got up, only to be pushed back down as another soldier passed him.
"Outta my way, pencil-dick!"
Dante looked from the soldier to his Sergeant. Miller shrugged, giving Dante the same look as before.
Miller moved on, leaving Dante to fend for himself. Harper moved in line to replace him. As Dante tried to stand, another black soldier came up behind him, helping him up by his back.
"You okay, man?"
"Yeah…I got some ants on my neck earlier…"
"Yeah, that happens. Were they red?"
Dante wasn't sure why he asked the question, but nodded yes.
"Just be glad they were. Black ants are ten times worse, believe me."
He continued to help Dante up the path. "What's your name again…McManus?"
"Yeah."
"I'm Corporal Berenger. Call me Mason. C'mon, let's keep up the pace."
Dante smiled. He kept walking with all the energy he had left. His fatigue clung to him with the sweat.
Later on, Foxtrot Company had set up a perimeter at the top of a large hill, overlooking the forest. A chopper was hovering nearby, getting ready to unload some goods and ammunition. A few soldiers went and quickly gathered the cargo, ducking to avoid the onslaught of wind from the propellers, before bringing it into the perimeter.
Other soldiers were resting for the moment, either taking their lunch break, shaving their beards, or marking their territory. One particular shirtless Private was pissing on the face of a dead enemy soldier he had found. Sergeant Miller walked by, glancing at the scene. He turned to the man.
"You're a sick fuck, Wolfe."
Wolfe just laughed about it.
At the Company Command Post, a few yards from the woods, Captain Gibson sat near the radios, going over a map with other Lieutenants and Sergeants.
"All right, listen up: we got word from Sky Three that some fresh NVA are moving in from the Cambodian border north of here. They also spotted a VC camp about five miles from here. It's well hidden, but we may be able to light 'em up tonight. We'll be sending out all platoons on squad-sized ambushes before dark. I want you all to be ready by sundown." He turned to a scruffy-looking Sergeant.
"Macon, I want you to take your squad over to that spot near the old Buddhist Temple we passed earlier. Charlie seems to like that area."
The Sergeant nodded. "No problem, sir…"
Dante, meanwhile, was shirtless and covered in sweat, a red bandanna around his head, digging a foxhole for the Company over near the woods. Two others were sitting on a nearby log, eating their rations. Although the food tasted like crap, it was still the most relaxing part of the day for them.
One of them, a black soldier with dreadlocks, turned to face him. Dante had stopped for a breather.
"Hey, whiteboy, what'cha waitin' for? That hole ain't gonna dig itself- get back to work!"
Dante sighed, and lifted his shovel again.
It had only been a week into the service, and already, Dante hated it. He had to stay on watch point three times a day, and he never got any sleep that you could actually call 'sleep'. He had come from a northern environment in the U.S., and wasn't used to the blazing heat of Indochina. When he'd volunteered, he thought he'd be doing his country a favor, as his father had done before him. He imagined risking his life everyday in a way that would get one exhilarated. All he was doing was working his ass off, and nearly dying of exhaustion from it. He was starting to regret his decision, knowing he would have to keep this up for a whole year, if not more.
Hours later, when the sun was starting to set, the platoons were gearing up to head into the jungle. They'd been assigned to draw out the VCs in an ambush, to make way for the more experienced Companies.
As Dante packed up everything he had, Mason came up to meet him.
"Boy, what're you taking all that for? You don't need half that shit."
"Well, sorry. Why do they give us all this stuff, anyway? I never use most of it."
"Don't ask me" he answered, turning Dante around and pulling stuff out of his pack.
He pulled out a green tarp. "Don't need that." He then threw out a few other excess items. "Or these. You'll be fine, man." Reaching in for one last item, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Smokes. Now these, you can use. Good call." He took one and lit it with a lighter before giving the pack back to him. "Not the best brand, though. You just start?"
Dante nodded. "Yeah, kind of. Didn't do it as much back home, but it's been pretty rough out here."
"Hey, I hear ya'." He picked up his M-16, patting Dante hard on the back. "Stay close to your partner tonight. It's gonna get even rougher."
A rather well built, muscular man, carrying an M-60, walked up to the two. He was an Corporal named Giovanni Redding, nicknamed 'Guy'. "Well well, Berenger, taking your time with the freshmeat, huh?"
"Fuck off, you guinea piece of shit. And be careful with that fucking cannon, we don't want you blowing off the kneecaps of the new recruits again."
"It ain't my fault they ran in when they weren't supposed to."
Miller came up to the group. "Okay, gentlemen, party's over. Berenger, I've put you with Harper and me; the little cheese-dick needs some experienced cover. McManus, you're with Redding here, and Connolly."
Guy turned to Dante, still holding the M-60 over his shoulder. "Well, are you deaf, you Irish bug? Let's go." He handed Dante the ammunition chains, and walked off. Dante sighed and followed.
Down the path, Miller turned to the rest of the platoon. He grabbed a magazine from his bandolier, and clutched his rifle.
"Okay, saddle up!" he yelled. "Lock and load!"
The soldiers all finished up with loading their weapons.
"Move out!"
And with that, they all walked towards the jungle, single-file.
It had taken them forty-five minutes to make their way to the Buddhist Temple Gibson had been talking about. When Miller's platoon reached it, they were assigned to set up their squad a hundred paces to the west, where the VCs were supposed to pass.
As the other soldiers manned their stations in the darkness, Dante sat on a log behind a rather large bush as Guy finished placing the Claymore mines around their part of the perimeter.
He clutched the barrel end of his M-16 in his hands, resting the stock end on the ground, as he waited in nervous anticipation. He'd be facing real danger for the first time tonight. Sure, it'd be real dangerous, and several might die, but it was much more to look forward to than shoveling shit.
"Hey, dickhead! Are you listening?"
Dante snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Guy yell at him. Guy walked over to the log.
"This is how it's gonna happen: you're on watch for the first two hours. I'll be back there, catching some Z's. We switch off like in normal regulation. You sure you know how to work the Claymores?"
"Yeah" Dante answered, sounding sure of himself.
"Good. Don't screw up." Guy stepped over the log, and headed for another shrubbery to lay out his tarp. He stopped for a moment, and turned to look at Dante.
"Scared?" he asked.
"No!" Dante retorted. "Not at all."
Guy sighed, and took a step closer.
"Hey, don't worry. Just do what I told ya, and you'll be fine. Okay?"
Dante paused a bit before nodding in response.
"Good. See ya in a couple o' hours."
He walked off behind the bush. Dante turned his attention to the Claymore controls, making sure they were in good condition. He then got off the log, and moved to the ground in front of it, resting his back on the log. So began his first combat duty.
About an hour into his shift, Dante nearly drifted off. He had not gotten any sleep in a long while, and was obviously having trouble keeping his eyes open and his attention on the woods in front of him. When he realized he was drifting off, he shot up, struggling to open his eyes.
He looked at his post: nothing was different. He didn't see anyone out in the woods, and didn't hear anything. He sighed in relief, glad that he hadn't screwed up his first job.
He laid his back against the log again, trying to rest and still stay awake. He only had another hour before his shift was over.
All of a sudden, he heard something. He slowly sat up, looking out into the woods in front of him. He looked around a bit before he noticed the source of the noise.
A number of men dressed in black pajama suits were moving alongside Dante's post. They weren't moving towards Dante, but past him, to Dante's left. They were heading right into the traps the platoon had set for them.
For a few seconds, Dante didn't move. He was captivated by the shock and thrill of being seconds away from combat. He then reached down to pick up the Claymore controls, clutching the squeeze-handle. One good squeeze, and instant roasted gook, he thought…
BOOM!
Dante fell back as a Claymore blast went off. He got back up, the control still clutched in his hand, and looked into the woods. VCs were running everywhere, trying to avoid blasts and gunfire, all the while firing back on their own. The screams of soldiers on both sides were audible. Dante immediately saw how close some of them were, and squeezed the control.
Four enormous flashes went off in the woods in front of Dante. Several VC soldiers were thrown to the ground. Within seconds of the blast, Guy was at Dante's side.
"Good job, kid; c'mon, get back here!" He pulled Dante behind the bush, and immediately started setting up his M-60. "Feed me the ammo!"
Dante grabbed a chain of ammunition, and slid it into the slot as Guy set up the gun. He held up the chain as Guy fired into the woods.
The bullets sailed into the woods in a storm of gunfire, leaving the troops unable to tell if they had hit any enemy soldiers. Still, they fired until they were ordered to stop.
Eventually, the gunfire calmed down. Guy stopped when the man a dozen feet from him stopped. He whipped off his helmet, and wiped his forehead, breathing heavily in hyped excitement.
"Gooks never stood a fuckin' chance." He picked up his rifle, and headed into the woods as other soldiers were doing, searching for remaining VCs.
Dante got up, and was about to follow him, when he heard a yell in the other direction.
"We got a man down! Someone get back here with the medic, now!"
Dante ran back, wanting to know who had been injured. When he finally reached the source, he breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't Mason.
"Now, motherfucker!" Connolly yelled as he stood over Wolfe, the Private Dante had seen before. He looked up at the red-haired youth in front of him.
"McManus, what the fuck are you doin'? Don't just stand there!"
Dante moved out of the way when he heard the medic coming. The medic threw down his bag, and started to look at Wolfe.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Grenade" Connolly answered. "He was manning the other M-60, and some gook came through like a damn Kamikaze, and threw one right at him. Son of a bitch didn't even notice."
"Shit" the medic said, wrapping bandages on Wolfe's wounds. Wolfe had to be held back to be kept from leaping up in pain.
"Hold still- HOLD STILL, MOTHERFUCKER!" Connolly yelled as Wolfe struggled under his grasps. "Take the pain! Just shut up and take it!"
Wolfe finally stopped struggling, but showed no indication that the pain had gotten any better, Dante noticed. The medic was finishing up with the wound, doing all he could do.
Off in the woods, soldiers were walking through the shrubbery, searching for VCs that had survived. Miller and Macon, two of the Sergeants, were among them. They scanned every inch they crossed, pushing aside bushes with their rifles and bayonets.
Macon stepped around a tree, and came upon two VCs, both of whom were wounded and laying on the ground, but still alive. They looked up at the U.S. Sergeant with remorseless eyes. Macon returned his feelings by firing two rounds into each of them with his M-16. He turned back to where Miller was walking. "No survivors here…"
Back up near the squad base, Dante was so preoccupied with the scene in front of him that he didn't notice Miller walk up behind him.
"Okay, what's going on over here?"
Connolly looked up from the wounded soldier. "Wolfe got hit by a grenade, sir. He may not be able to walk for a bit."
"Hey may not have a choice" Miller responded. "We have to get moving now. The other squads are coming through to clean out the area, and we have to get out of their way. Be ready to go in fifteen minutes, sharp."
Suddenly, Harper came running up to Miller.
"Sir!"
"What is it, Harper?"
"Sir…" he said, catching his breath, "Spencer's dead, sir. They got him with a round in the throat."
Miller sneered to himself. "Shit. There goes our best tracker. Harper!"
"Yes, sir."
"You came from language school, right? And you know how to read paths? Any of that?"
"I've worked reconnaissance before."
"Good. You're replacing Spencer. Get going." He turned to the rest of the squad. "Everybody get ready, we're moving out! McManus, you help Connolly carry Wolfe! Let's go!"
Dante began to walk over to Connolly when he saw Mason coming up to him.
"Heard what happened. You okay?"
"Yeah. Sorry about what happened to Spencer…"
"It's okay. They got him instead'a me. C'mon, I'll help ya' with Wolfe."
Dante smiled as he followed Mason to help carry Wolfe out of the woods. People were dying, and things were getting pretty tough, but he still had friends. Maybe things weren't going to be so bad after all.
And so ends chapter 1. Like I said, these first few chapters will be a bit slow. By chapter four, however, we'll be in familiar territory, and the plot will get more interesting. Just to let you know. Please review this story if you have anything you would like to say.
A couple more things I want to say: first off, the story line of this first chapter might seem a little familiar to you, if you've seen Oliver Stone's Platoon. That film was a slight inspiration for this story, along with a few other things. But this will clearly not be a Platoon-like story, so don't worry.
One more thing: for this fic, I've decided to make my own soundtrack. Since this is a written story, I can only suggest music for it. Here's how it will work: for each chapter, I'll list at least one song/piece, sometimes more, that corresponds with the chapter, working as a score. Maybe you will try and listen to it if you want to read the chapter a second time. Since this story partially takes place in the Sixties, and a character from the Sixties will eventually be thrown into the past, there will be some music from the period, along with pieces from the likes of Jo Hisaishi (the movie's composer), Ennio Morricone, and others. I hope you enjoy this feature.
Music for chapter 1:
Adagio for Strings (Theme from Platoon) by Samuel Barber
Sympathy for the Devil by the Rolling Stones
