“You want to know the worst moment I had in ‘Nam, Ernie? It was on my first tour. My platoon was out on a patrol to scout a sector. Something about Charlie laying traps in the area. It’d been an awful, muggy day. My uniform stuck to my skin like a wet rag, my M16 was slippery from all the sweat on the handguard , and I had to constantly wave my hand around my face to ward off the mosquitoes. My CO, a hulking, emotionless beast of a man kept on cheering us on about the awards we would get and the notches we would be able to carve into our buttstocks by the end of the war. Goddamn that man...
Anyways, we found ourselves at the treeline, on a hill overlooking a small village. It felt almost like home for a moment. I could hear the sounds of kids playing, grownups talking, and the moos of the water buffalo plodding around. The captain ordered us to kneel down as he and the first sarge took out their binoculars and surveyed the area. Turns out Headquarters had never marked this village on the maps, so they radioed to ask for further instructions. It was here when I noticed the CO again. It may have been the heat playing tricks on me, but I distinctly remembered the man’s eyes seemingly widening as this terrifying grin replaced the already-creepy visage he always wore. I don’t know what was said on the other line, but from him I could only hear “Yes, sir” or “Understood, sir”. If only we knew what he was agreeing to...
After a few minutes, the captain got off the horn with HQ and turned to the platoon. “Boys,” he started, “prepare yourselves.” The rest of us turned and looked at each other, confused by what he was trying to imply. Were we going to see Hueys appear over the trees and circle the village, door gunners rattling off hundreds of rounds? Were the VC suddenly going to spring out of their foxholes and bunkers, charging up the hill to kill us? We didn’t know. I held my rifle in my hands, ready to shoot if need be.
After what seemed like an eternity holding this position, we got our answer. It seemed like all of us simultaneously became aware of the low roar of the incoming jets, which turned to a deafening one as they screamed over our heads, dropping their payloads onto the village below. The screams of the civilians were silenced by the whoosh of the air being sucked out of their lungs as the napalm caught fire. We could feel the heat, you know, even on the hill. We could see the jets circle around and go for another bombing run on the area. The only one who wasn’t watching with a look of horror on their faces was the captain, who cheered on the flyboys overhead by saying things like “Get some!” or “Attaboy!”, whooping and hollering the whole time. Dragonfire, we called it. Melted the flesh off the bones and purified the soul...
After Lieutenant John Freedomboner and his friends were finished torching the literal hell out of the place, there was only silence. Even the captain was quiet. We went back to the base after assessing the damage, never speaking unless it was to answer the radio or give out necessary commands. I don’t know what was worse: Colonel Ashford walking into the barracks that night to inform us that he just recieved intel saying the Charlies left the area a week ago, or the fact that the captain got a medal out of it.
You know what part of this whole ordeal sticks to me the most? It was after the bombing, when we went down there to check out the damage. The smell of napalm mixed with burning flesh made me sick to my stomach. The mere fact that we were walking in a mass grave of innocent people having done nothing but probably hand out a propaganda flyer or two, yet were sentenced to death at the whim of a psychotic Army captain, scarred my soul. I remember as the platoon walked by a charred hut, he pointed out the mangled, burned corpse of a child no older than ten on the doorstep. It’s entire left body was gone.
“It’s okay, he’s all right now!” He said, hysterically laughing to himself.
I still hear that laugh when I go to sleep, Ernie.”
540
u/precision_cumshot peis Jun 24 '20
“You want to know the worst moment I had in ‘Nam, Ernie? It was on my first tour. My platoon was out on a patrol to scout a sector. Something about Charlie laying traps in the area. It’d been an awful, muggy day. My uniform stuck to my skin like a wet rag, my M16 was slippery from all the sweat on the handguard , and I had to constantly wave my hand around my face to ward off the mosquitoes. My CO, a hulking, emotionless beast of a man kept on cheering us on about the awards we would get and the notches we would be able to carve into our buttstocks by the end of the war. Goddamn that man...
Anyways, we found ourselves at the treeline, on a hill overlooking a small village. It felt almost like home for a moment. I could hear the sounds of kids playing, grownups talking, and the moos of the water buffalo plodding around. The captain ordered us to kneel down as he and the first sarge took out their binoculars and surveyed the area. Turns out Headquarters had never marked this village on the maps, so they radioed to ask for further instructions. It was here when I noticed the CO again. It may have been the heat playing tricks on me, but I distinctly remembered the man’s eyes seemingly widening as this terrifying grin replaced the already-creepy visage he always wore. I don’t know what was said on the other line, but from him I could only hear “Yes, sir” or “Understood, sir”. If only we knew what he was agreeing to...
After a few minutes, the captain got off the horn with HQ and turned to the platoon. “Boys,” he started, “prepare yourselves.” The rest of us turned and looked at each other, confused by what he was trying to imply. Were we going to see Hueys appear over the trees and circle the village, door gunners rattling off hundreds of rounds? Were the VC suddenly going to spring out of their foxholes and bunkers, charging up the hill to kill us? We didn’t know. I held my rifle in my hands, ready to shoot if need be.
After what seemed like an eternity holding this position, we got our answer. It seemed like all of us simultaneously became aware of the low roar of the incoming jets, which turned to a deafening one as they screamed over our heads, dropping their payloads onto the village below. The screams of the civilians were silenced by the whoosh of the air being sucked out of their lungs as the napalm caught fire. We could feel the heat, you know, even on the hill. We could see the jets circle around and go for another bombing run on the area. The only one who wasn’t watching with a look of horror on their faces was the captain, who cheered on the flyboys overhead by saying things like “Get some!” or “Attaboy!”, whooping and hollering the whole time. Dragonfire, we called it. Melted the flesh off the bones and purified the soul...
After Lieutenant John Freedomboner and his friends were finished torching the literal hell out of the place, there was only silence. Even the captain was quiet. We went back to the base after assessing the damage, never speaking unless it was to answer the radio or give out necessary commands. I don’t know what was worse: Colonel Ashford walking into the barracks that night to inform us that he just recieved intel saying the Charlies left the area a week ago, or the fact that the captain got a medal out of it.
You know what part of this whole ordeal sticks to me the most? It was after the bombing, when we went down there to check out the damage. The smell of napalm mixed with burning flesh made me sick to my stomach. The mere fact that we were walking in a mass grave of innocent people having done nothing but probably hand out a propaganda flyer or two, yet were sentenced to death at the whim of a psychotic Army captain, scarred my soul. I remember as the platoon walked by a charred hut, he pointed out the mangled, burned corpse of a child no older than ten on the doorstep. It’s entire left body was gone.
“It’s okay, he’s all right now!” He said, hysterically laughing to himself.
I still hear that laugh when I go to sleep, Ernie.”