Rambo's face was painted black.
He’d been in place at least thirty minutes by now, with no more than one hundred feet separating him from his Vietnamese sentry.
The guardsman had leant up against a tree about twenty minutes earlier, and hasn’t moved a muscle since. It almost seemed like he was sleeping on his feet.
Rambo checked the time on the Seiko watch he was wearing on his wrist, but it seemed to be standing still.
He had to calm down.
So he closed his eyes.
He listened to the base in front of him and the jungle all around him but not a single thing was moving. and he was still too worked up.
All this tension would have made him slip-up and that was definitely something he couldn't afford, especially not on enemy territory.
So he focused.
It was like swallowing something.
Fear and tension need to be swallowed sometimes, precisely like a bitter pill. Some Baker team guys enjoyed believing that they could swallow fear up like a pill because they were born 'real man', but that wasn’t exactly how it worked
Without the gruesome selection program and most of all, the following two years of training could Rambo (or the rest of them) have been up to controlling their minds the way they did.
By that time Rambo was calm and collected.
He looked up at the sky that was slowly changing colour from black to dark blue.
Checking his watch again, the time to act had finally come
Rambo lifted his Kalashnikov to eye level, pointed it in front of him and slowly began moving forward through the roadside vegetation.
He walked silently, crouching the whole way without ever taking his sights off the sentry in front of him.
When he got close enough to hear the guard breathe, he stopped.
He was taking long and steady breaths, almost like snoring.
The guard was sleeping on his feet and this was going to make things a lot easier.
Slowly, Rambo put his Kalashnikov on his back letting it hang on its sling, and drew his Baker knife out.
The time had come to strike.
As he was moving in closer the guard jerked.
After an odd kind of cough however, he didn’t move or change his breathing again.
False alarm.
Rambo took the last two steps which separated him from his man then his hands sprung forward like a striking snake.
With one hand he covered the guard’s mouth while the other flashed the Baker knife into the air. With a solid heave, Rambo pushed himself against the enemy, making it absolutely impossible for him to move. Right after he slit the throat, the mouth under Rambo's hand stopped trembling.
Trautman was right in saying once you cut the enemy’s throat he can’t even complain.
Not needing the knife any longer, Rambo was able to hold the man with both arms.
The man flung himself a couple of times against Rambo, as blood squirted everywhere and he slowly suffocated in his own blood.
He wasn’t a weak man, but the pain and shock had already debilitated most of his strength.
A minute (and a lot of blood) later, Rambo felt his man stop flinching in his arms all together.
So he slowly laid him down on the ground, paying close attention to not make any sound whatsoever.
Rambo, now stained with blood wiped his eyes with the back of his hands since his fingertips were obviously sticky as well, but he ended up getting even more stained than before.
It was then that he heard a rustling behind him.
“What the hell are doing?” he whispered.
It was Berry and he was right.
In all actuality that probably wasn’t the moment to be wiping all that blood off his face.
He and Rambo exchanged a couple of hand signals, than Rambo lifted the corpse up off the ground, swung it on his shoulder and moved towards a small drainpipe nearby where he’d already decided to hide it.
He looked at his Seiko and realized they were running a little late.
Rambo was walking in the dark, in the tall grass, when he felt an excruciating pain in one foot.
In spite of rushing because it was late, worrying about making too much noise and the weight of the corpse over his shoulder, Rambo still managed to fall backward before that thing – whatever it was – devastated his foot completely.
Initially, it had felt like a giant knife had pierced his boot.
But then the pain eventually grew excessively and he could feel an alien object inside his boot.
When the pain suddenly became excruciating, he moaned behind his grinding teeth.
He turned around and on the ground he saw what he’d stepped on was a punji.
The whole place was full of them.
What with the lack of light and the tall grass hiding it Rambo had hit it dead on and now, blood was gushing out of the hole in his boot.
Jesus Christ – he thought.
A wounded foot.
No, no, no...
A wounded foot in enemy territory, miles away from the nearest filtration point.
What he’d just done to his foot, was what the guys at SOG liked to call the 'wound of death'.
A trivial wound per se, but one which could end up killing you across the border.
That goddamn simpleton trap had probably cost him his life in one way or another, considering most punji traps were poisoned by either animal or human excretion.
Rambo clenched his jaw, wanting to scream as his heart fell.
Twenty-three years old – he thought.
I thought I could make it.
I really thought I’d be able to do at least a few more missions before dying.
He gave his head a shake because the pain was already decreasing
He may have been fucked up, but the rest of the team wasn’t.
And the mission itself still had a chance.
He couldn't let himself become a problem for his team.
He had to stick it out.
He had no other choice but to keep fighting.
So, as the breeze blew against his bloodied and sweaty face, Rambo got back up.
Once on his feet and looking around, it was obvious that, from there on in, he would have to be far more careful.
He took his first steps jumping on one foot only.
His watch confirmed there were only a few minutes left before the attack was set to start.
He had barely enough time to take care of that wound.
He hopped behind a tree, sat on the ground and with trembling handsuntied his boot to find his sock drenched in blood.
As he considered what to do he heard someone or something cautiously moving behind him.
Rambo turned around immediately holding his Baker knife by its blade and ready to throw if need be, when he realized it was only Barry.
“You’re not in position, Raven. What the fuck’s going on?”
Then he looked down and answered himself:
“Shit”
He crouched to the ground, slid his assault bag off his back and took something out of it.
“This is gonna hurt, Johnny” he said as he poured waterfall of alcohol over his foot and Rambo clenched his jaw as he did.
After cleaning it, Rambo and Barry checked it as best they could but it was very dark and they knew better than to turn their little red-coloured flashlights on.
In any case, the punji had not pierced from one side to the other.
The tip had passed right between one toe and the other wounding both but not completely going through anything.
Rambo had been lucky and there was no denying that, but he probably wouldn’t be able to march, making him a liability to the team.
“I don't think I can make it”
“Don't worry Raven. You’ll walk”
“I don't think I'll be able to march”
“You’re gonna make it, John. You’ve got to because if you slow the hostages down...”
“I know, Snake. The body...”
“I’ll take care of it. You patch yourself up for good, but do it right”
“There’ll be plenty of other punji, around”
“I know. Wrap it tight, that’s right. ’Atta boy. I gotta go John”
“Go”
Delmore picked the body up and loaded it on his shoulder.
“We’ll never leave you, Raven”
“You’ve got to think about the hostages”
“If you’re too slow, I’ll stay behind with you”
The two of them stared at each other for a second
No, you won’t stay behind with me – thought Rambo.
No.
Barry wasn’t supposed to risk his life for Rambo.
He had a mother to take care of.
He had a real family (Not like the one Rambo had grown up with), and really had people who loved him. He shouldn't put his life at risk for Rambo.
It was wrong.
Delmore, for God's sake – thought Rambo.
Were he and Barry such good friends for real?
Delmore...
Rambo tried to take a step forward to see exactly how much his foot hurt.
He was slow and seriously injured.
Being this slow meant he really ran the risk of being caught.
If he and Barry were captured, their dreadful fate would have been far worse than dying itself.
“No Snake...” said Rambo finally.
“Please, don't”
Barry smiled at him in the dark.
“You won't get rid of me that easily, man. We’re gonna make it, and we’re gonna do it together”
Damn it – thought Rambo.
His unit would be one man short doing the raid so getting into the base with three rather than four men could jeopardize the mission all together.
“I'll be back” Barry finally as he disappeared into the darkness leaving Rambo on his own.
“Damn it” he whispered again under his breath.
-
While making his way through the darkness, Barry tried to get over the thoughts that were nagging at him.
If he wanted to fight, he would have to forget about his injured friend for the time being because there wasn’t anything he could do for Rambo right then and there.
Rambo had become an issue for him, and issues increased the probability of making a mistake, so he had to get it out of his head.
Having no other choice therefore that’s exactly what he did.
A second later, Barry considered Rambo no more important than a bag you needed to remember at the hotel entrance after checking out.
The black man met up with Krakauer and Messner, who were in front of the base and already in position. Not yet knowing anything, the two men had just finished assembling the bow for Rambo.
“Where the fuck’s Raven?” Messner murmured.
“Wounded”
“What?”
“A punji. I’ll shoot with the bow. We’re going in in three”
“Shit” cursed Krakauer.
“How is he?” asked Messner.
“Shut the fuck up, and let’s get moving”
-
If Messner could have, he would have liked to stuff Rambo full of antibiotics straightaway.
The Vietcong piss on the punji for fuck’s sake, or worse still, shit on to them outright.
But when Messner looked at his watch, he realized there were only two minutes to the assault phase so there wasn’t much he could do for Johnny there and then.
Worse yet, if he took into consideration the distance they were to the nearest possible LZ, his friend was probably a dead man.
And now they had to get into the base short a man.
“It's time” said Barry, and in silence the three of them started walking briskly toward the base.
As soon as they crossed the entrance gate, they quickly turned left, and hid between the shacks and external bamboo wall.
They were neither seen nor heard.
The shack they were crouching behind was made of brick and had a metal roof.
Barry and Krakauer were in front, while Messner was covering them.
They moved forward up to the corner of what looked like a house under construction.
-
Barry swallowed then stuck his head around the corner.
Precisely as Rambo and Coletta had said during the planning phase, that position gave Barry a perfect line of sight for a clean shot.
So he pulled his head back, moving back under cover.
Krakauer passed him his bow.
It was dawn by then.
While they were waiting in absolutely stock-still and silent, they heard a cough coming from the other side of the wall where they were hiding.
Jesus Christ – Barry thought, without moving a muscle.
The dark blue sky above them began to turn into a subtle red.
Barry hoped that at the very least, Rambo would be able to cover their backs.
He would be finding out soon enough.
-
Ortega and his unit were at the top of the hill that towered over the unfinished base.
The team leader was watching the base through his binoculars while Coletta, cradled his M14 like a baby next to him.
Ortega looked at his watch: the time had come.
“Let’s roll” he said.
Coletta smiled and nodded.
He spit his chewing gum out, pointed his M14 at the base and lowered his head down to the telescopic sight.
The rifle thundered in Ortega's eardrums as he looked through the binoculars down the hill again.
One of the guards at the main gate jerked back a bit then collapsed to the ground as a spurt of blood squirted from the side of his neck.
“Two inches lower, Sniper” said Ortega.
“Got it”
The hit North Vietnamese soldier flapped his arms in the dirt, like he was trying to swim on the bare ground. Then he stopped.
Ortega scanned the entire area.
Someone came out of a shack to check out what was happening and Coletta immediately blew his head off.
“I said no heads, Sniper. Not at this range. That's a fucking order”
“Okay boss”
-
Those first two shots were the signal Barry was waiting for.
He pulled the cord of his bow, held his breath, and went round the corner.
The guard on the tower was looking up toward where the shots had come from.
No one was screaming, not yet anyway.
Why are not they screaming?
Because it had all happened too fast.
It’s just the adrenaline, Delmore.
One or two seconds had passed at most between the first and second shots.
Barry pointed his bow towards the tower guard and the whole world slowed down.
When he finally took aim, his target was pulling the charging handle on his AK.
The arrow flew straight up like a missile right to the guard’s spine hitting him exactly where Barry had aimed.
TUMP!
One – Barry thought.
The guard shuddered. First he bent forward – hitting the parapet – and then he bounced backward, falling into the tower entranceway.
Barry withdrew back behind the corner.
He was already out of breath. He picked up the second arrow that Krakauer was holding out to him, pulled the cord and got ready to shoot again.
Only then did he hear the first screams.
He took a deep breath, and leaned back around the corner again.
The second turret was further away than the first.
Barry aimed then shot.
It flew longer this time and the guard on the second turret turned right before it got there.
This time the arrow was too high - 'no, no no' thought Berry - hitting the guard right in the middle of his forehead.
It pushed his head back coming to a complete stop against one of the four lodge beams.
He was still standing.
The arrow may have passed right through his head, planting itself right into the beam.
A second later, his forehead was dripping blood.
Too high – thought Barry, then he leaned back behind his corner, where Krakauer was holding to the third arrow which awaited him.
Too high – Berry thought again.
If he’d hit the tortoise shaped helmet, the arrow would have rebounded and before Barry could have taken another shoot, the guard would have caught onto them.
He’d risked a lot.
Barry clenched his jaw. He had just about compromised the mission.
Calm down.
It's not over yet.
He still had to hit the third and final guard.
-
Ortega made a worried face.
“Fire post number two. And fast”
“Roger that” replied Coletta.
The sniper thus stopped looking through his riflescope andtook off runningwith Ortega.
-
Only then did Barry hear the first shots fired by the AK exploding in the base, but they were all heading up towards Ortega's unit on the hilltop,
Calm down – he thought.
Barry re-pulled the cord on his bow.
I am calm.
Then he poked out of his corner again to shoot at his third and final target.
This time however, the drill ground unfolding right before Barry’s eyes was full of North Vietnamese.
Ten, maybe even twenty soldiers and they were all right in front of him, even if they were looking up towards the mountain.
Dear Lord – he thought.
Dear Lord don't make them turn.
Don’t let them see me
And there were so very many of them...
Shoot, Barry.
Had even only one of them turned around, and if they had done itthat very second...
Just think about shooting.
Barry aimed his arrow up to the third and last tower.
Get rid of that last, damn tower.
Fear became a pain in Barry's chest which was almost physical.
Oh Lord.
Oh Lord, please...
Make me kill him.
Please, please, please...
Consequently, Berry completely relaxed to the point of almost falling asleep, like he was already dreaming.
Now he was concentrated.
He’d finally managed to do it.
Now that fear was out of his mind, Barry felt as free as air.
He even felt free, strangely enough.
This time he didn’t shoot his arrow, but 'let' it get to the target 'on its own’.
WUUUUUUIP
And this time he actually saw it fly.
He saw it climb up to the guardsman, where it hit him right in the sternum.
Before the soldier had even hit the ground, Barry was already back under cover because, all things considered, no one could possible survive a shot like that in the heart.
Delmore then folded his bow and put it behind his back as Krakauer returned his AK to him.
-
Once they reached the second shooting perch, Ortega looked below through his binoculars.
.
At that point, the North Vietnamese were trying to coordinate an attack up the mountain.
And exactly how many were there? Forty? Fifty?
Others even continued coming out of the sleeping quarters as well.
They were really too many of them at that point.
Ortega swallowed because they had made a mistake, done something wrong.
“S-Scorpio...” Coletta said in a trembling voice.
“I know”
And fuck me do I ever– he thought.
Ortega then picked up his AK and aimed. His heart was starting to pump furiously in his chest and suddenly the idea that they may have done everything wrong ceased to worry him. He no longer cared.
He tried to catch his breath before shooting.
This is it – he thought, but the man he was aiming at kept running all over the place.
“Skorpio” Said Coletta.
“I know”
BOOM! - sounded the M14 next to Ortega.
This time it's for real - thought Ortega.
This is it.
This is what I have been waiting for my entire life.
BOOM!
“Scorpio help me, for God's sake”
Ortega finally pulled the trigger.
BAAM!
His Kalashnikov kicked between his arms, immediately giving him a feeling of violence. AKs were the only weapon in the world capable of making him feel like that.
His target instantly fell to the ground accompanied by a squirt of blood and seeing him fall down like that gave him a wonderful feeling.
Ortega then aimed at a new target, but this time he unleashed a small burst.
KRRAK!
They were falling like puppets whose strings had suddenly been cut.
Ortega's heart was now slowing down going back to normal.
It’s payback time assholes.
You’re gonna pay for everything you’ve done to my life, you bastards.
You’re gonna pay for it all, and with interest too.
You’re gonna pay for Helen, for Boswell, and every single thing you’ve done to my life.
You’re gonna pay for this whole fucking war.
And you’re gonna pay for it right now.
Ortega's shots took down a third soldier, but this time the guy got back up and his face was gone
A shot had grazed him and taken some of it with it.
Ortega thought about putting an end to his misery, but left him to suffer instead.
Blood started squirting through his fingers which were keeping a piece of his face on.
Ortega could hear him screaming all the way to where he was, and it was wonderful.
In the meantime, Coletta's M14 kept on thundering right next to him.
And Coletta never missed.
“Scorpio...”
“Everything's under control”
“We have to move again, Scorpio”
“Give me a sec”
-
Danforth and Jorgenson were down lower than Ortega and Coletta, hiding in a tangle of lines, leaves and dead branches.
The lowest down and closest to the enemy however, was Danforth
He was crouched down in a real hole in the ground, covered with dead branches and tree trunks, which hid and protected him.
On his left he even had a tree trunk thick enough to stand the rounds shot by the AK.
On top of the tree trunk an There was an M60 laying on top of the trunk with a second ammo belt right beside it, ready for reloading.
That’s when Danforth heard the first voices whispering orders in Vietnamese and the snapping of branches being pushed aside and stepped on.
Jesus Christ, they’re right here – he thought.
He pointed his AK towards the sounds, while sweat was annoyingly dripping over his eyes, down his temples and onto his beard.
Come on – he thought.
Come on, you assholes.
The first thing Danforth saw moving was a head peek right out in front of him.
The North Vietnamese soldier stayed there for a second looking straight in his direction, and that’s when they stared right at each other. Even if the Vietnamese couldn't really see Danforth (who was camouflaged, in the shade and hidden behind leaves and branches) he looked straight at him, like he was looking him in the eyes.
Despite the fear he was feeling, Danforth stared right back at him, without even moving a single muscle.
All of a sudden however, his heart seemed to leap up into his throat, and he unexpectedly lost his breath.
He started hyperventilating through his nose but kept his mouth shut like a burrow nevertheless, as he was terrified the enemy would hear him (despite it being impossible at such a distance).
This is tough... - Danforth thought.
Fuck is it ever tough.
Despite having already gone through something similar during Black Spot, at least that had been at night. That day, under that hot sun, bearing enemy stares without moving an inch had turned out to be much more difficult than anything Trautman had ever made them do in training.
You’ve already been there.
You’ve already lived through worse things than these.
Calm down, God damn it.
Danforth continued inhaling through his nose but started taking much deeper breaths. Slowly, he then rose his sights in front of him to his target’s head.
His index finger was eager to pull the trigger.
Come on, you asshole.
Get the fuck away from there.
Danfor