Two Dreams by Yardier ~War Story ~ (fiction) writing prompt entry |
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
1969, Mekong Delta, South Vietnam.It was a cold foggy night as the Phu Luc River finished its high-water slack tide and began to flow slowly and purposely out to the South China Sea. Directly across the river, Nguyen Van Hu'ng just finished a two-hour low crawl with his Mosin-Nagant Sniper rifle on his back. He left his VC compound three days earlier and now was within twenty-five meters of the river's edge across from the American river-patrol base camp. He paused, listened, and smelled the air before crawling another ten meters toward the river. Finally, he inched next to the base of a thick mangrove, took the rifle from his back, and quietly removed the hemp cover. He took a breath and steadied the rifle against the tree, and peered through the rifle scope at the American camp. Hu'ng, seventeen years old, had joined the Peoples Armed Forces with a deep passion for national independence and hoped to someday be recognized as a leader in the Communist Party of Vietnam. However, he also held contempt and hatred for the arrogant Americans. Soldiers? Hardly, they were easily tempted by whores, drugs, and loud music. They deserve to die, and the more he killed and sent back to decadent America, the sooner Vietnam will be reunited under President Minh. And, tonight, he intended to kill at least one American soldier, hopefully, two. As Hu'ng scanned the base camp through his rifle scope, he saw a soldier bent over between steel protective plates on a patrol boat. The soldier appeared to be fixing something. Maybe he was a mechanic. Not only was the soldier a mechanic, he was the only mechanic to keep battle fatigued patrol boats running. Private Clarence White was repairing the sea strainer on the ‘5’ boat with a rusty wrench while dreaming about the Pontiac GTO he was going to buy with his combat pay. Thirty more days and he would be back in Alabama shifting gears and burning rubber. Hu'ng thought the soldier might lift his head at some point providing a clear kill shot. Hu’ng would be patient. Another soldier concerning Hu’ng was the most important; the tower guard overlooking the river and patrol boats and Hu'ng could not see him. That soldier was well protected by a wall of sandbags and probably asleep anyway; still… if Hu'ng were to receive any return fire, it would come from the tower. After his kill, he would simply roll behind the tree and wait out the 'spray and pray' firepower the Americans would unleash in his general direction. Sensing light peeking through the drifting fog, Clarence lifted his head and smiled at the moon. Hu'ng placed the crosshairs of his scope on Clarence’s head. “Perfect!” He thought and began to squeeze the trigger. CRACK! Clarence grimaced and dropped the wrench into the bilge. The shot split the night as a 7.62 full metal jacket bullet smashed through Hu’ng’s forehead and instantly ended his dream of becoming a glorious leader in the Communist Party of Vietnam. His loyalty to Ho Chi Minh had just been cut short by the tower guard’s accuracy and memorialized in a growing pool of blood and piss as he rolled over and died. Corporal Roper, the tower guard, ejected the spent cartridge and chambered another round. He peered through his rifle scope to verify his kill, then lit a cigarette as parachute flairs illuminated the compound with strobing effect. Clarence peeked over the ballistic plate and gave Corporal Roper a thumbs up. Corporal Roper exhaled cigarette smoke into the fog and smiled.
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