I T WAS a simple job:
just go in shoot the
bastards, blow it half to
hell, and walk out. It was
a key part of the Phoenix
Program. There was
never gonna be any
resistance; none was
expected and none came.
We had visited the place
before. They all seemed
alright. They gave us
some of their water, even
fed us something. Village
seemed just like any
other. They didn’t seem
to have any weaponry, or
any kind of way of
communicating with the
enemy rebels, so they was
no threat to us or anyone
at all. Will had told us in
the briefing to make it
quick and that it was a top
secret mission and that
nobody was to know
about this mission back
home. He also said that “If
you refuse to obey
orders, then, hell, I’ll
blow your brains out
myself”.
When we got the order
nobody seemed to give a
damn – just another
bunch of Vietnamese as
far as we was all
concerned. We was
walking up the goat path
to the village. I could
smell the boiled pork a
mile off, and it smelt just
like my momma’s just
like we used to spit roast
it. My momma would
have thrown a Texan fit if
she saw them ruining such
a “fine” pig. As we drew a
little nearer to the village,
a few of them kids started running up to us.
One of them had some
kind of a bike, with no
tires on it, though. I guess
they were just glad to see
us. I recognised one or
two of them, not that it
mattered: Todd was
always gonna shoot
them’s brains out,
anyways. Sick bastard he
was. Always getting such
a... such a thrill out of it
all, he was never right in
the head. I’ll never forget
the way he kicked the kid
off the bike, like it was
some kind of rat. Didn’t
stop me liking him, mind;
he wasn’t too bad. He
reminded me of the kid
that was always getting
told off at school, the one
everybody sort of liked,
but no more than that.
Them Villagers must have
heard the shots because
all of a sudden it was one
big old game of hide and
seek, and USA don’t like
to lose. First off, we
played their little game –
went into those straw
things they called home
and blew the hell out of
anything and everything
that was in them. Those
peasants just never know
when to shut the hell up,
they screamed and
screamed like there was
no tomorrow: then again
I suppose there weren’t
never gonna be a
tomorrow for them.
There was blood
everywhere; I got at least
a barrel load of it over my
uniform. Takes a whole
age for that crap to come
off. Stevo, that sicko,
kept on playing around
with this arm that he blew
off a kid no more than 11
– kept on tapping poor
old Jay’s ear with it. Jay
was a sensitive guy:
refused to kill them. He
always said, “If they ain’t
gonna hurt me, my
family, or any of you
fellers, then I sure as hell
ain’t gonna kill them.” He
started to lash out at us,
then soon him and two
others (Phil and Tony)
were trying to stop...
they was trying to protect
him. Todd didn’t like that
at all so he knocked him
clean out, poor fool.
Can’t remember a thing
to this day. Still went
down for it though. Some
of the boys never forgave
Jay and the boys for that,
not that he apologised.
But, after that, there
were constantly fights
between them. Soon they
were calling them the
“Charlie bunch” and they
was always pulling pranks
on them and bullying
them about their
mommas, and stuff like
that.
The killing wasn’t the
only thing that upset Jay
and his boys. According
to them they saw Todd
forcing a fifteen year old
girl into one of them us came out on that day,
but it wasn’t something
that we really felt bad or
stupid about afterwards.
Though I regret it, I
didn’t believe we were
completely wrong. For
us, I guess, it was just
another day in the pits of
hell. Some of the boys
could never let it go, and
there were also the men
like Steve, Todd and Will
that loved every Godforsaken
minute. As they
blew every inch of that
village apart they felt a
real sense of Patriotism.
They still think that
they’re all a bunch of Mr.
America superheroes.
Myself, at the time, I felt
no remorse, but now ten
years later I am a different
man, and now I can’t stop
thinking about what I did.
It is always there: the
guilt; the hatred. I don’t
know how much longer I
can take this.
Me, well if I am
completely honest with
you, I was there. I shot
who I saw. I left the kids
to the others, but I did
my share of the dirty
work. I must’ve thrown
grenades into at least
three of those huts, shot
about fifteen of the men
and the women, and then
I must have gone and
burnt about another five
of them,... I guess that
that makes me a sick
bastard, but I suppose
that’s what you get when
you take orders from the
sick bastard with all the
medals in charge.
If only I could go back
and change what I did,
you could bet your life—
and mine—I would.