Mac lurched forward violently, suddenly awakened from the nightmare he had been having for months. He was sweating and shivering at the same time.
When he first arrived in Vietnam, Mac had been assigned to Zang’s squad. Zang had a reputation as a very tough squad leader. He was completing his second tour of duty in Vietnam and was somewhat crazy. The squad was patrolling near An Hoa, South Vietnam, when they started taking sniper fire from a village they were passing. The marines hit the deck and returned fire. After a few minutes, the firing stopped. The men prepared to continue the patrol. They knew the sniper had probably made his escape through a nearby tunnel.
“Form up on-line; we’re going to sweep through the vill and try to flush out that sniper,” Zang said.
At this time, Mac had not been in Vietnam long, but he had been there long enough to know the sniper was gone. It seemed foolish to delay the patrol because of one sniper, who was probably gone anyway. Then Mac heard Zang say something about execution call. Mac knew Zang was from Chicago. He had boasted about having connections with the Mafia. He wanted to become a lieutenant in the mob when he got back to the world.
The squad got on-line and swept through the village. They did not receive any enemy fire. The people in the village had taken cover in underground bunkers. Zang had his men search the bunkers and bring all the people to the center of the village. There were approximately fifty Vietnamese in the bunker complex: old men, women, and children. The exceptions were three young men, who appeared to be about seventeen years old. Zang pulled the young men off to the side. He was in a rage.
Zang pointed at the young men and said, “You VC.”
The boys shook their heads violently. “No VC! No VC!”
Mac could see the fear in their eyes. The marines towered over the diminutive Vietnamese, and the marines were dirty, sweaty, tired, hungry, and not very happy about having just been shot at, but Mac didn’t think Zang would actually do anything to the young men. He thought Zang was trying to scare them, possibly to find out where the Vietcong were. But Zang pulled his pistol out of its holster, cocked it, and put the barrel against the head of the oldest Vietnamese boy. Zang was red in the face, hyperventilating. He was very angry.
“You’re VC, and I’m going to kill you if you don’t tell me where your unit is.”
Mac was worried; he could see that Zang meant business. He walked over to Zang and stood next to him. “This isn’t right, man,” Mac said. “I don’t think they even understand what you’re saying.”
“Shut up and get back where you belong,” Zang barked. “These fucking gooks damn well know what I’m saying, and if they don’t tell me where their Vietcong unit is, we’re going to have an execution call.”
Mac could not believe it. What was he going to do, he thought, get into a firefight with his squad leader?
Zang lowered the pistol, grabbed the collar of the boy, and pulled him closer. He pointed the pistol directly at the boy’s heart.
“No!” Mac said.
Zang squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck the Vietnamese in the chest, sending blood spurting through the air. The boy crumpled to the ground, dead. The villagers gathered around the body, crying. The boy’s mother cradled his body in her arms, sobbing. The village men stood motionless. There was fear and hatred in their eyes.
“You’re crazy, Zang,” Mac said.
Zang cocked the pistol again and pointed it at Mac’s head. “What did you say, mister?”
“Go to hell!” Mac said, then turned and walked away.