Ian had a fitful sleep and woke just before dawn. Dry mouth, he took a swig of water from the Army issued canteen splashing some on his face adjusting his eyes to the streaks of light coming through the shroud of leaves, grass and limbs over his head. Examining his backpack of rationing, he ate out of the foil pack until his hunger was satiated.

            It was time to move before full daylight in order not to be detected in the open. He would travel close to cover camouflaged blending into the terrain with a covering of twigs, leaves, jungle vegetation and other coloring to enhance his invisibility.

            Covering his shoes with fronds from trees, he moved forward through the thick growth of the jungle keeping a wary eye on every movement and sound. The skills the Cherokee Indian, Chikotay, had taught him came in handy for in no time he was in the minefield where his comrades were taken captive the day before. He checked the tracks that led through to the other side bringing him safely to shelter of the forest. He was about to rest in some brush when he felt the presence of eyes on him, yet he could not see anything. He moved cautiously through the growth until he was near a tree with vines hanging from it, blending into the growth until he seemed part of it, and waited.

            The big .50 caliber sniper rifle would do its work if need be, but he did not want to use it because the enemy would be alerted to his position. He heard a rustling noise, almost inaudible, but his trained sense of hearing picked it up. His hairs stood up on his head for he knew the enemy had spotted him but he could not detect where it was. His vision sighted a dark blur flash across the clearing but it was not human. What could it be he wondered as he slid his knife out of the sheath? The night sounds ceased as critters seemed to have scurried to their lairs fearful of what was near. Ian held his breath so that his breathing would not distort his hearing for one second could be a matter of life and death.

            A loud scream of the jungle cat broke the silence as black fur came suddenly into his vision from the airborne leap of a panther. Training is what saved his life as he fell backwards at the last moment during the panther’s descent planting the knife in his side before it hit the ground. He locked one arm around the beast’s neck and plunged his knife again and again in it as its claws rent his flesh. The two thrashed in the growth that seemed like hours but were only a few seconds before the beast’s legs began twitching and one last snort left its nostrils before it lay inert on the jungle floor.

            Shaking with the thrill of victory and fear, Ian took out a bandanna wrapping the cuts on his arms and legs, collecting his gear and left before the smell of blood drew other predators. He took huge gulps from his canteen to cool himself down and calm his exaggerated beating heart.

            He was all pumped up now and he knew he had no qualms of killing men if they were to kill him, the beast proved that. It was kill or be killed and his mind was getting out of here and coming home alive.

            Fresh tracks of his Company and the enemy were present only about 11 hours old encouraging him to pick up the pace as daylight shone through the canopy. Making quick movements blending into the surroundings, he soon came to a clearing void of vegetation and halted scanning the area for enemy. He searched for tracks and signs of booby traps before crossing as a zinger whizzed past his head. Someone had spotted him taking pot shots while he was in the opening with no cover. Determining that the bullets were on the left side of his face, the enemy was shooting from the east as he glanced in that direction to see brush move. He quickly swung the big .50 caliber Barrett rifle with the silencer sighting before he stopped. He pulled the trigger spewing slugs that tore through the brush finding targets from the yell of pain coming from inside.

            Now was the time to get out of the clearing to safety since the enemy was momentarily frozen, occupied or seriously hurt. This gave him ample time to move before another bogie got a bead on him. From where the enemy was located, the brush was cover for pot shots and it forced Ian to stay close to the perimeter waiting for movement before he moved forward to check his victim(s).

            He felt no remorse at shooting or killing the enemy only relief that he was not on the receiving end of the bullets aimed at him.

            He heard other voices in the brush, Vietnamese, as they assessed the condition of their comrade, making it known it was a severe wound or he was dead. In any language, you could detect cursing and that is what they were doing.

            Crawling on his belly, Ian cautiously moved toward the targets. He was now the predator and they were his prey. He would not allow them to get the jump on him because he was alone with no one having his back. He had to attack quickly before they detected his presence and position. He picked up a rock and threw it about 20 feet and watched for signs of movement. No one moved and he threw a second stone low enough to shake the brush and landing next to a tree like an intruder was present.

            Someone opened fire exposing his/her position as Ian swung the Barrett .50 caliber and fired twice at the position of the shooter while rolling to a different location. A cry of agony resounded from the hit. Just as the enemy hollered, a shot was made at the location Ian had just vacated. They continued firing exposing their position as Ian fired once again three times spreading each shot 10 degrees. He heard loud thuds and thrashing in the brush as someone fell from a standing position bringing a smile to Ian’s face.

            He wondered if these were the same ones who had captured those of his Regiment, if so, should there be anyone alive he would get information as to where they were imprisoned. Removing his backpack and other gear, he crawled forward with his service .45 automatic pistol and sling shot spotting two dead victims, one injured and the other on lookout. Withdrawing his slingshot, he shot a steel ball bearing putting the injured to sleep while he went into stealth mode moving toward the lookout scout. He was not going to kill him but use him to find the camp where his buddies are held prisoners.

            Ian was as quiet as could be until he stepped on a device under the leaves that acted as an alarm causing the scout to turn as Ian fired the slingshot forcing him to drop the weapon? It would be hand-to-hand combat, hopefully not to the death, for Ian wanted him alive.

            Ian rushed the enemy soldier when he became weaponless planning to finish him off with one punch to the carotid artery mild enough to stop blood flow putting him to sleep. He missed his target for his opponent was a skilled fighter and by the look of his calloused hands was a master in the martial arts.

            The Vietnamese soldier smiled when he viewed the look of surprise on Ian’s Face. The Viet soldier moved in with sure deadly force with a straight-punch at Ian’s head that grazed it on his left side sending stars as his gift. Forcing to keep from passing out, he fell forward on the ground rolling to his right to stay out of range of the foot that was traveling toward his body.

            Ian staggered to his feet as the Viet soldier burst into laughter. He was confident that his opponent did not have the necessary skills to beat him in a fight toe-to-toe and became arrogant leaving himself open.

            Ian feinted a punch to his head and slanted to his opponent’s left and delivered a hooking punch to his kidney. Now the look of surprise had shifted to the Vietnamese who wheezed as the breath was knocked out of him. Ian moved in but the Viet even though shallow of breath folded to a bent position, shifting surprise again to Ian who moved in to deliver an upper cut to his chin. The Viet stood erect after the punch whizzed past grabbing Ian pulling him forward giving him a head butt making him see stars.

            Both men were dazed, staggering for position for best advantage. The Viet was skilled in jungle and guerilla fighting, kicking leaves in Ian’s face and grabbing a vine wrapping it around his neck strangling him. The Viet meant business as he tightened the vine around his throat. Ian’s tongue protruded out of his mouth as his fingers clawed to free himself from the vine around his throat. Ian withered to his knees as the Viet followed him down putting more taught to the vine. Ian made one last ditch effort as he saw two jagged rocks on the ground. He released his hands on the vine and reached for them unknowing to the Viet who was laughing, slinging Ian’s head from side to side, for he knew his man could not survive much longer before he met the Devil in Hell.

            Ian, using the strength left in his body, raised his arms and brought both down with the jagged rocks that pierced the Vietnamese boots forcing him to cry in agony releasing the vine attentive to his wounds.

            Desperate for air, Ian sucked in huge gulps as he fell to the ground clutching his throat trying to open his windpipes. Forcing himself to his feet, it was time to end this by throwing a straight right punch to the Vietnamese forehead that cracked like a ripe watermelon, blood and gore gushing from the fracture. The Viet shuddered as shock waves traveled his entire body, but before he fell, Ian delivered a finger thrust to his larynx that permanently shut off his breathing. There was no doubt he was dead. Wasting no time, he went back to the Vietnamese who he had wounded with the slingshot, question him and got what he wanted and slit his throat.

            Raw adrenalin coursed through his veins as his eyes took on animal killing instinct. He grabbed his gear and begun tracking for other Viet Cong and found them within a two hour march. They had their own Village or Compound with shacks and stockades made from bamboo that held guarded prisoners.

            The camp had about 20-25 soldiers, Vietnamese mercenaries, and Soviet troops who were hard as nails, rugged, ruthless, evil eyed and ready to kill without hesitation.

            Ian understood that he could make no mistakes and formed a plan. He put up markers all around the camp with ammunition ready to reload at each point. He would fire and kill as many and move to the next marker so the enemy could not get a fix on him and to make them think there were many operatives they had to face instead of one.

            Dusk came and it was time to act. A bunker held three Russians who were outside taking a smoke would be the first casualties. Ian sighted the three and made calculations of how he would shoot all three swiftly. He fired three times simultaneously from the ten shot magazine killing all three before they could alert the camp. Ian moved to another position falling back 500 yards.

            Confusion enveloped the camp when the dead Russians were found making for easier targets firing once again taking out two more moving farther back in a perpendicular fashion.

            Quietness fell over the camp as darkness fell as a blanket over the jungle. Few stars shed light as if fearful not to compete with the moon that had dark clouds shrouding it bringing gloom over the expanse.

            The camp doused all light making it imperative to fight in the dark or wait until dawn for daylight to expose the enemy. The situation was right for Ian who could not wait giving him the advantage as he put his infrared night goggles scanning for movement attaching his muzzle flash retardant to his silencer and went to work. The enemy became visible through the infrared spectrum and his next move was to take them out. The big .50 caliber sniper rifle with infrared scope was adjusted on its built in tripod for a range of 1,800 yards with no need to check for wind shear for there was no breeze in the hot humid jungle. He stood up lugging the heavy rifle and folded the tripod back inside and used the straps as anchors to his arms as he elevated the gun 35 degrees from center position and fired. Two seconds later the first victim dropped, a second later the second followed by the third.

            His distance was over a mile away and he had no fear of conventional weapons for he was out of range, however, mortar or missiles could fire the distance. Taking that into consideration, he must destroy these weapons before they launched an attack that could be detrimental to him.

            The Camp’s ammunition cache next to the mortar gun was visible as he loaded the Barrett sniper rifle with phosphorous rounds firing three shots that looked like streamers as they flew toward the target hitting the ammunition keep, exploding like a sun going supernova.

            Pandemonium and chaos erupted as screams of the injured and dying filled the air with those not so favorable being trampled upon by those who were fleeing to safety, if there was any. Vietnam speaking troops excitedly barked orders and began firing into the jungle mindful of nothing except shoot hitting whatever. Jungle vegetation was flying everywhere and some spots were cleared because of the heavy concentration of fire. What Ian feared the most happened unexpectedly when small rocket fire began leveling the trees, gouging holes in the terrain, scattering animals seeking cover with rank smelling odor all over the place.

            Mortar fire started in random pattern from the east and west points of the camp, and rockets being launched from the north. Ian took note of the pattern making assessment on the next barrage; he sprinted forward toward the camp amidst the burning debris seeking to find the mortar guns quickly. Surprise happens without any warning when he felt pain from a bullet hit in his left shoulder as a big slug tore through it. Ian muttered to himself, “Mother… what the hell?” His mind finally understood that a sniper was within the camp to hit him on the run at 1,300 yards. He immediately dove for cover crawling behind a log. “Damn, this sniper is good.” Ian had to change strategy and get this sniper first.

            This would prove difficult because the troops were coming into the jungle with dogs, means ones and from the barking, he ascertained that four were heading his way. From his backpack he extracted a ¾” bamboo tube about 8 inches long inserting a penny into a diagonal slot blowing gently on it. No audible sound issued for human ears but the dogs heard it prompting two to charge in his direction. He removed four shurikens laced with strong adder poison that would paralyze on contact entering the bloodstream killing in a matter of seconds. Two of the soldier dogs found what they were looking for as padded feet stirred the mush from their charge, skidding and sliding in haste to tear Ian apart with snarls, barred fangs with saliva dripping from their mouths straining every muscle to get to their quarry.

            Ian saw what was coming and the vision would have scared the hell out of any other soldier when sighting the dogs who looked like dogs from hell, charging through the burning debris, heads lurching forward with every muscle straining, hunched at the shoulders being propelled by hind legs that dug into the ground adding momentum, red eyes glowing with fury, saliva dripping from their mouths were a picture of specters of destruction delivering death as pay.

            They never delivered the pay but became targets within 15 feet when Ian tumbled and rolled releasing the deadly poisoned shurikens that thudded on impact burying themselves deep into the foreheads of the two dogs killing them within seconds. Whether it was the poison or two inch intrusions of the shurikens buried deep in their brains could not be determined which killed them, all that was known is that they were dead.

            The sniper fired as Ian exposed himself, unknowing that one of the dogs took a bullet meant for him saving his life. The muzzle flash gave Ian a good mental picture of his location as seconds later he swung the Barrett .50 caliber rifle spotting his target in a watchtower 1,200 yards away firing the moment he beheld the enemy coming into the crosshairs of the infrared scope.

            The enemy sniper was surprised because when he was about to fire he sighted the muzzle of the Barrett rifle aimed at his head. Before he could pull the trigger, a .50 caliber bullet mangled his scope tearing half his head off.

            It was time to finish what he came here for when a German shepherd dog leaped for his throat causing Ian to spontaneous fall backwards on the ground preventing the dog from attaching its jaws to his jugular. He grabbed the dog by the throat. It was throat for throat, may the best one win. The German shepherd dog was a vicious as they come, but Ian’s hands were as bands of steel preventing the dog from breathing. A wild panicked look came into the eyes of the dog when he was using all he had with no results or defense except shake his head from side to side using his maws trying to scratch his way loose. Never may that happen because Ian had a deadlock on him with a promise of not to release until dead.

            The dog tried to whimper but nothing issued from its throat with his mouth opened wide, not to bite but get some air if it could, legs spasming growing weaker by the second. Death came calling as its eyes rolled back in its head managing to get one last whimper through sagging to the ground, dead.

            Picking up his gear, Ian headed for the camp viewing a big Soviet troop shooting G.I’s in a stockade as one would shoot fish in a barrel. Removing the other two shurikens, he threw both, one for the soldier and the other for the dog killing it and injuring the soldier. The wounded soldier spotted Ian trotting toward him tried to reach for his weapon with his good hand, but Ian shot it off leaving him alive for the soldiers in the stockade to wreak vengeance on him for the atrocities he had done to their comrades.

            He opened the latch freeing the G.I.’s who spewed out like water from an over filled glass. They approached the Soviet slowly as he tried to back out of harms way. It was only momentarily because the soldier used their bare hands tearing and rending flesh until you could not recognize the Russian for his skin was literally torn from his body, a raw bloody mess. He died of sheer fright.

            A cheer went up from all for their hero, a Black hero in a strange land. They found weaponry and made quick work of the seven remaining Viet Cong feeling good to have freedom again.

            Ian had killed 17 enemy soldiers alone and 4 vicious killer dogs, disabling an entire Compound and freeing his fellow soldiers. He was put in the hero hall of fame along with Eddie Murphy and others who through bravery had single-handedly thwarted the enemy and rescued prisoners of war and turned the tide of the battle.

            The Regiment returned to base where Ian was declared warrior elite and given the Purple Heart and the Congressional Medal of Honor.

            Ten Months later was honorably discharged returning to Detroit to his family who honored him with pride and glad to have him home alive.

 

© Tommy L. Thomas 2009