Martin E Silenus [Silenus - Cambodia

CAMBODIA

Book Two

The Vietnam Trilogy

By

Martin E. Silenus

Be sure to visit

Martin E. Silenus

At

http://www.martinesilenus.com for free books and special offers!

Chapter 1: Jungle

W e are surrounded by a primordial jungle, the heat and moisture is like a sauna wrapping around us and makes even breathing difficult. Im puffing to extract the rich oxygen from the damp air. My uniform is soaked and sticks to me in all the wrong places furthering the wet blanket sensation of claustrophobia. Thank Christ we arent wearing underwear. Bunch balls and crotch rot we do not need. There is no room to sweat, no room to cool off.

The trees are enormous prehistoric structures, hundreds of feet high, and hundreds, maybe thousands of years old. The base of the trees as they curve to meet the earth are more than twenty feet high at the apex and covered in moss, assorted jungle flora and fauna, and vines climbing and twisting out of sight. Shit, there could be an army of gooks in the trees and we would never know until were dead.

Everywhere there are clumps of ferns as large as houses. The leaves on giant unidentifiable plants are 10 feet long and 3 feet wide. A fleeting thought of monster meat eating plants flits through my mind. We cannot move without stepping on or disturbing the plants. The plant leaves shaking and waving as we pass is a dead giveaway of our presence.

It is half-light even though it is the middle of the afternoon. We are shielded from the sun by the canopy of the trees hundreds of feet above us. Yet occasional spots of sunlight slip through from above and hit plants which light up like neon lights. Drifting amongst the trees and plants are patches of mist or fog just hanging and floating in the air, like vaporous alien life forms. I smell the rich odor of vibrant vegetation over the pungent stench of plant and animal rot. It is a surrealistic world. Natures living breathing Salvador Dali painting.

Around us the jungle is a cacophony of creature sounds, birds clattering and squawking. Tree animals, some form of monkey I suppose, are rustling the branches and yipping and howling as they move from limb to limb. Insects by the truckload, some biting, some crawling, all contributing their sounds into the jungle orchestration. Reptiles everywhere, coiling and hanging in loops from tree branches, the flick of motion as they strike and seize their victims, the soft sighing rustling sounds as they flow across the leaf carpeted jungle floor and through the greenery. Christ, I hate snakes.

Such prolific life forms all living and functioning in a careful time and evolution engineered chain of biology of who eats who. Nature on steroids. I am getting confusing signals, a sense of peace and contentment of Mother Nature doing what she does best, and at the same time a sense of expectancy of pending disaster. It is a confusion of emotional senses clouding my self-preservation radar.

Cambodia, the deep jungles of Cambodia, so this is what they mean by a steaming jungle. How the fuck can anyone live in this, survive, and conduct war. Just living and not being consumed by the jungle is a full time job. We are but another entry in the biological food chain. A pair of large rich blood bloated bipedals, ripe for the jungle to pluck and feed on.

I glance at P-man, noticing the beads of sweat rolling down over the camouflage grease paint on his face, and signal a direction towards a cluster of coiling vines climbing a tree trunk. Using my machete I single out a thick vine and slice it open. Immediately water pours out and I drink. P-man follows suit.

Christ, mutters P-man, We must be in the jungles at the beginning of time!

I just nod and take a pull of bourbon chaser from the canteen on my belt and offer it to P-man. He shakes his head.

Chapter 2: Firebase Foxtrot

T he dust, choking red fucking dust, in my eyes, ears, nose, throat and choking my lungs! Jimmy Hendricks guitar, Purple Haze, howls out of Roseler and Shakers bunkered hooch.

Jesus H Christ, I complain bitterly, If it isnt the gooks, the jungle, or the fucking snakes trying to kill us, the fucking dust will smother us!

I pull my ghillie hat off and wipe the dust and sweat of my face with my t-shirt and check the photo of Daria inside my hat brim.

You forgot the fucking military command shitheads, adds P-man, Dont forget those incompetent assholes!

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 dirt, with a collection of dirty bunkers and ratty sandbags surrounded by coiled razor wire and minefields. And dust, Christ, dust billowing up in swirling clouds from the choppers thumping their way in and out resupplying ammo, men, mail, food, gear. Ass and trash they call it, hauling ass and trash.

My name is Corporal Hudson (Hud) Reynolds, 24 years old, Marine sniper, ho-yah, 15 confirmed gook kills. We snipe 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, solid as the day is long, good man to have at your back, a Canadian volunteer. Were short timers, less than a month left in our rotation. God, I cant wait to get back to Daria, and yet I have terrible anxiety she will reject the version of me that comes back from Nam.

Today P-man and I have drawn the sand bag maintenance detail. Check all the bunkers for broken sand bags and replace them. No leaking sandbags allowed. Shit, like it makes a bloody difference. Besides they are just bags of red dirt anyway. Theres no goddamned sand for miles in any direction. But when Major Farris says, You two boys have a special treat today, you are on sandbag detail! You do not be bitching or moaning or you will get to be on latrine duty and burn barrels of shit and piss.

Roseler and Shaker are doing latrine duty right now, pulling the barrels from the backs of the latrines. Then pouring in some jet fuel from the Hueys fuel supply into the barrels, lighting it up, and stirring the excrement with a stick while the noxious odors of burning shit and toxic black sooty clouds billow into the air. Most everyone vomits from the stench. It warms my heart just thinking about it because I know how much everyone hates latrine detail. Sandbag detail doesnt seem near as bad.

It has been a quiet routine for the last week or so. The patrols go out they come back without contact with the gooks. Everyone is glad, but also uneasy as we dont know what the hell is going on. OPCOM seems to know even less than we do. Charles is likely planning something huge while we wander around with our dicks in our hands being useless. There is an uneasy pregnant air over the firebase.