“Fuck ‘im. We’ve got a job to do.”
The team made their way back to the operations tent, cleared the table then laid out their intel, plotting the previous attacks and looking for patterns.
“How’re we gonna find these guys?” the Professor asked. “The marines sweep the area constantly and they haven’t found jack.”
“That’s just the problem,” Nathan said. “They do these big daylight sweeps with forty-plus men. Anyone could hear ‘em coming a mile away. But at night, with a smaller team-”
“So where do we look?” Deacon jumped in.
“They’re taking the water.” Nathan pointed to a river on the map; the attacks formed a rough pattern that traced along its course. “They’ve prob’ly got a camp upriver. We just need to sit tight around here and wait for ‘em to pass by. We leave tonight. Try to get some sleep before then.” Of course, none of them would.
They met at the docks in the dark of night. The team checked their weapons, loaded gear into the inflatable Zodiac then hopped inside. Nathan would’ve felt safer in a Mike Boat, but they had to keep a low profile.
Nathan was the point man; Buck the radio man. Their translator, Bao, was there just in case they grabbed a VC for interrogation. Leon and Simon were the coxswains. Deacon, Kyle, Bentley, and the Professor rounded out the nine-man team.
Nathan took a moment to size up his squad’s killing power. His weapon was a CAR-15 with a 40mm grenade launcher and plenty of rounds, canister and high explosive. Bentley carried an M3 machinegun and a 7.62mm Chicom pistol. Deacon and Kyle each carried M79s with the XM-148 40mm grenade launcher attachment. They had about twenty of the soda-can sized grenade rounds between them: high-frag, buckshot, smoke canopy, and an experimental XM-463 stealth round. The Professor carried an SKS semi-auto rifle and a .38 combat masterpiece; very professorial. Leon and Simon carried Stoner 63 assault rifles. Most of the men had a KA-BAR and a couple of M61 hand grenades. Bao carried an AK47, and Buck carried the radio.
Just as they were loading into the zodiac, a shadow moved up from base. It was Chris Donaldson, the marine from the bar.
“What’re you doing here?” Nathan asked.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Like hell you are.”
“I couldn’t keep my brother safe, but I can still put a bullet in those VC fucks.”
“You sure ‘bout that?” Leon scoffed. “Last time I checked you jarheads weren’t doin’ so hot out there.”
Donaldson faced off with Leon. “Either I’m going with you, or I’m going straight to Cain to let him know about your little operation.”
“You threatening us, dip-shit?”
“Shut up, both of you,” Nathan said. Heads turned towards him, and they waited expectantly for an answer.
“You’re not really considerin’ it, are you? He’ll just get in the way,” Leon said.
“Fuck you,” Donaldson snapped. “I can hold my own.” He turned to Nathan. “I need to do this. For my brother.”
Nathan sighed. “Okay.” It was a bad idea, but agreed anyway — a brother needs vengeance. “Just promise me something: don’t fucking die.”
“Someone’s gonna die tonight,” Donaldson growled, brandishing his M1 rifle, “but it sure as shit ain’t gonna be me.”
They took it slow out of the docks; picked up the pace when they were well down the river. The ride was a little less than two hours. Steering to the riverbank, they nestled the zodiac into twisting mangrove roots, concealed under dense overhanging branches — perfect spot for an ambush. Bentley and Kyle set the claymores upstream then waited at the river’s edge.
Not too long after, they spotted a sampan coming down river.
“Should I blast ‘em?” Bentley held up the remote detonator.
Nathan shook his head. “Not yet.”
The sampan moved closer until revealing its sole occupant.
“Just one of ‘em?” Bentley said.
“Could be a scout, maybe,” Leon said.
“Put the detonators away,” Nathan ordered. “Let’s ask our man some questions.”
They waited for the boat to close the distance, coming within a dozen yards of their riverside hiding spot.
“Hands in the air,” Nathan shouted.
The team sprang from their positions along the river, weapons drawn.
“Tell him to get over here,” Nathan instructed Bao.
Bao shouted something to the man, who paddled the sampan over to the riverbank. The SEALs grabbed the edge of his wooden boat and pulled it closer, and the man stood with arms raised, eyes wide — terrified.
“Ask him if he’s VC,” Nathan said.
Bao translated, and the man stammered something in reply. “He says he’s not,” Bao said. “He says he’s a hunter. His name is Hiro.”
“A hunter?” Nathan laughed. “Bullshit. What’s he hunting out here at night?”
Bao relayed the question, and Hiro answered with two syllables that sounded like ‘yeow kwai’. The way he said it, cold and stone-faced, sent a chill along Nathan’s spine.
Nathan motioned to the man. “What did he say?”
Bao paused. “Demons.”
“Demons? He really say that?” Donaldson said.
Bao nodded.
“Check his bag,” Nathan ordered.
Kyle grabbed the large sack in the bottom of the sampan, pointed a flashlight inside then rifled through the contents.
Hiro glanced around nervously before speaking in a worried tone, the syllables rushing out.
“He says we’re not safe here,” Bao translated. “He said, ‘the daughters of Ngu’Tinh are in the waters’.”
“New tin?”
“Something like, ‘demon fish’. A myth of Vietnam. Ngu’Tinh is a giant creature with hundreds of legs. It is said to eat fishermen.” Hiro continued rambling while Bao translated. “He says Ngu’Tinh’s daughters live here. Demon-spawn. The river is their feeding ground.”
“Think I found out why he’s so nervous.” Kyle lifted a small vial of rosy-brown liquid from Hiro’s bag in the sampan. “Heroin. He’s got loads of it. Needles and powder, too.”
“Drug runner for the VC?” Bentley guessed.
Nathan shrugged.
Kyle shone the flashlight on Hiro’s face, revealing red blemishes all across his skin. “He’s an addict.”
There was a sudden flash of movement from the overhanging trees — a cracking, thwipping sound. Something large snapped down from the canopy and back up again; just a blur of motion, and Bentley was gone.
“Jesus,” Simon shouted.
The SEALs scanned the motionless canopy, listened to the sudden silence of the forest.
“Bentley?” Nathan called into the trees.
A gurgling sound above.
Bentley fell back down. One piece at a time. Parts plopped into the water — three successive splashes. One landed in the sampan with a hollow, wooden thud.
“Fuck,” Kyle yelled, stepping back from the severed arm. “Jesus, fuck!”
“God damn! Bentley!”
“The hell was that?”
“Anyone see it?”
The men trained their weapons on the canopy. Leaves rustled above. Something was moving fast, sliding through the branches.
“Squad, rapid!” Nathan ordered, and the forest erupted with gunfire. Nathan sprayed the canopy with his CAR-15, and his ears rang as his squadmates unloaded into the foliage.
“Ceasefire!”
The gunfire stopped. Silence, except for the creaking of broken tree limbs, a few branches falling and dropping into the water, some landing on the forest floor.
“Did we get it?” Buck asked.
“I don’t see a body,” Nathan said, “whatever it was.”
“You don’t think he was telling the truth do you?” Kyle motioned to Hiro. “About the demons.”
The men glanced at the Professor.