Martin E Silenus [Silenus - Race the Devil

Book One

The Vietnam Trilogy

Be sure to visit

Martin E. Silenus

At

http://www.martinesilenus.com

for free books and special offers!

Chapter 1: Daria

I m a mess, a dysfunctional mess. Im sweating like a pig, my hands are shaking, there is a lump in my throat and my heart rate is redlining. The world around me is hyper and jangled. What the hell is the matter with me? Im a Marine Sniper, a feared warrior; I feed on fear, pain and shit bullets. How can I be brought to my knees by the prospect of offering an engagement ring to Daria?

Its Sunday, four days until I ship out to Nam, we are at the Kiwanis park by the river, stretched out on the lush grass in the shade of the blue green pine trees. Darias soft perfume floats against the smells of pine and mowed grass. Im trying to act normal, but Daria is watching me closely. She knows I am wound up ready to explode. Damn, I am dying; I have to do this now!

Reaching into my pocket I take out the little blue velvet box containing the diamond ring. Daria.., christ, it is not even my voice. Daria...will you marry me?

The world stops, there is not a sound, smell, or action. She slowly looks at the ring, then raises her head and looks at me with her wondrous deep blue eyes. Shit, I cant tell, I cant read what is there. Tears well up in her eyes, and spill down her cheeks, oh jesus christ, the answer is no. Just shoot me now and put me out of my misery!

Yes, yes Hud Ill marry you, Daria whispers as she wraps her arms around me. God this girl has a grip for a petite woman. The world restarts and I hear a choir sing, I want to scream, jump, run, and holler, yes goddamn it, yes!! But there is such a pain in my heart and a lump in my throat I cant move or even croak. And try as I might to resist, the tears form in my eyes and dribble down my cheeks. God, I love this woman so much!

Chapter 2: Firebase Foxtrot

T hump, thump, thump , thump, thump, whap, whap, whap, whap, whap. Aw shit, choppers!

The warm comforting, safe image of Daria fades to nothing and I am ripped back into the reality of danger and the stink of fear.

Im laying face down on my cot, and open a blood shot eye. Shit, Im still at the firebase! Christ, I feel like death. I hate feeling like this, but the damn Jack Daniels and weed is hard to pass up after surviving another jungle mission. Besides, it stops the voices and all the questions in my head. Matter of fact the only time I dont feel like death and shit is when I have JD and weed. Jesus, it is hot already, the rain overnight shoves the humidity up and as soon as the sun comes out in the morning it is a fucking sauna.

I sit up, eyes squinting against the glaring sunlight, head pounding, fumble around for my boots and turn them upside down and slap then against the floor to dislodge any snakes. Goddamn snakes, nine flavors over here and all poisonous, Jesus! Wearing underwear and boots I push open the tent flap and slog through the mud in the direction of the latrines. Dont need my eyes as the smell will lead me in the right direction. God the stench is disgusting, I consider vomiting, nah, takes too much damned effort.

My name is PFC Hudson (Hud) Reynolds, 24 years old, Marine sniper, ho-yah, 15 confirmed gook kills, hung over, feeling like shit. Four weeks and five days to go before rotation back home. Four fucking weeks, might as well be a damn lifetime. Over here everyone and everything seems to work against you to ensure you do not survive the duration of the tour and get out alive.

Im scared shitless of dying and the hell of it is I am scared shitless of what I have become and trying to go home. The devil is right beside me with his hand on my shoulder.

Firebase Foxtrot, Vietnam, fifty clicks from Pleiku, on the edge of the La Drang Valley, real close to Cambodia. Less than two acres on top of a high hill stripped of vegetation, all red mud, with a collection of dirty bunkers and ratty sandbags surrounded by coiled razor wire and minefields. Only two ways in and out unless you have a chopper. Some dipshit military tactical genius has figured out they should have Marine squads placed real close to the Cambodian border as that is where the Viet Cong are going to retreat to when the rest of the American war machine pushes them away from the coast and back up against the mountains, where we are. Precious, just bloody precious. So far the pushing has not gone real well for the war machine. As a result we have had some action but not non-stop firefights, which is just fine with me.

OPCOM briefing at 0800 hours! PFC Neefs squawks at me as he runs by.

I grunt acknowledgement. Neefs is a runner, an annoying, scrawny, little weasel prick with the OPS unit. They are supposed to have intelligence info and know what the fuck Charlie is doing. In reality they havent a goddamn clue what Charlie is doing, or where he is, or jack shit. They couldnt find their asses with both hands.

I climb into my fatigues, and murmur, I love you to the picture of Daria inside my jungle hat, then jam it on to keep the sun from baking my brains and wander over to my spotters tent and announce, Yo, P-man, you alive bro, quit cuffing yer carrot and get yer ass out here, OPCOM clusterfuck in 30 minutes.

Snipers work in teams of two, a spotter and a shooter. I shoot a tick better, so P-man spots. PFC Phoenix (P-man) Wall is a good lad, a Canadian volunteer. What the hell was he thinking of when he enlisted I wonder? Of course, what the hell was I thinking of when I volunteered? How could I have known what the military would mold me into? Whatever, P-man is a big, solid, dark haired kid, good sense of humor, doesnt panic easy, is a great shot, has good eyes, and has the patience needed to be a perfect spotter or sniper. We share duties for the most part. I hear a groan and a grunt from him signifying life.

Some of the other grunts are alive as well, or movement suggests they are alive. Roseler is polishing his rifle. He is very meticulous. Shaker is sitting on some sandbags by his tent with his canteen of bourbon, looking murderous.

Christ, Shaker, you drinking that piss at this time of day? I ask with a grimace.

Hair of the dog, Hud, he rasps, You should try it sometime, really puts ya in a vicious killing mood.

Uhuh, nice, I say. And head for the mess tent to grab a couple of cups of coffee.