Ch. 5 Saints and Sinners
The enemy's movements towards the border brought about another mission for Clay and the Sky Soldiers of Tropic Lightning. The C-130 dropped open the back deck to empty blackness, not a light below to know what was there. Eyes were peeled on the red light, waiting for it to change to the green one and the smell of fear was strong in the cargo hold. Clay was at the lead, his hand on the tether strap, looking outside, then turned to give a last second instruction.
"We land and form up at the rendezvous. No one be late for the party."
Heads nodded, while faces said nerves were at a peak. The flight deck commander heard they were less than a minute from the drop off point and readied the men. The green light flashed and Clay was off the deck and falling rapidly. His chute popped open and he looked up and watched the others exiting behind him. He could see the stars being blocked by the black canopies, as one after the other opened above him. He turned his attention to the ground and looked for flashes of gunfire at them.
Clay had his machine gun at the ready, his eyes scanning the terrain for any signs, when the first bullets started coming at them. Only a brief flash of light let them know the enemy's position and how many were firing at them, their bullets silently coming up from below. Clay sprayed several bursts into the area, mostly to send the VC undercover and give them time to land. The bullets had little affect on determent, as flashes continued to be seen.
Clay let the machine gun dangle from the strap, as he unhooked two grenades and pulled the pins. He judged the positions and tossed the fist sized armaments down. Just as the bullets covertly found their way up, the grenades did the same and none of the enemy knew they were coming down, exploding a second or two apart, ending anymore gunfire at them. Clay readied his weapon again and waited to shoot, but let it go and took the lines in his hands, as he neared the ground.
He broke through the branches and landed, though his chute was caught above him. He peered into the ebony jungle, his ears listening for sounds, then took out his knife and cut his lines free. He shucked off the harness and heard his men landing behind him. One by one they joined up with him and took positions to defend themselves. In whispers, Clay took a count of his men and two were unaccounted for. They waited another two minutes and Clay knew they had to move out, whether they showed up or not.
They fanned out and began moving forward, their silent footfalls bringing them closer to danger. They had no idea how many of the enemy were killed by them on the way down, or what defensive position they had taken. The crack of a branch ahead had everything stop, not a breath was taken, as ears listened for another sound. The silence was shattered a second later by gunfire and mortar shells exploding around them. Return fire started and bullets were sprayed in the direction anyone thought the sounds came from. Flashes of exploding light lit up the blackness around them, glimpses of where they were granting them some bearings. Clay ordered the men to move their position and split them up. Five men went to the right flank, while Clay led the men with him to the left. Shells kept exploding around the area they were in, tracer bullets finding the area and shredding the trees to splinters.
Covertly they traversed another hundred yards forward, then several grenades were hurled at the location of the mortar and the machine guns. In the brightness of bomb bursts, bodies were flung in arcs of disarray, then Clay and the others opened fire on them, spraying bullets into the night. Clay had his men rush the encampment, ready to kill any survivors, then the men on the right came in right after. Bodies were mutilated, torn apart by the blasts, while others writhed in agony. Those that were left, soon dropped their guns and surrendered to them.
"Fuck 'em. Kill them all."
The men heard Clay's orders, but were hesitant to fire upon the prisoners. Clay saw their hesitation and began putting short bursts into the wounded, then turned his machine gun on the ones holding their hands up. Some began to flee for their lives, but the others knew they couldn't escape and opened fire on them. No more sounds could be heard, as the last body dropped and the air became still again. The thick vegetation absorbed the sound rapidly, then insects and nocturnal wildlife masked the kill. Bodies were left where they were, while their armaments were gathered and a charge set to go off long after they were gone, then the hike back to the pick up began.
Feet trod as light as they could, no one making any more sound than they wanted to. Clay shot his hand up in a fist, halting anymore movement. He squinted hard, trying to make out the shapes through the trees. He couldn't see any movement of them, so he had the men move forward, careful to avoid an ambush of any kind. They were twenty yards away from the two shadowy figures, when Clay halted them again. He had them stay put, as he crept forward, the tension making him sweat and drip into his eyes.
He wiped them quickly and re-focused his attention again and saw the shapes were men. He studied them as best he could and then moved forward, making a noise as he walked, his barrel pointed at them and ready to fire. In the darkness, it was hard to make out details, but the lines hanging from the trees to them, made it apparent what happened to the other two members of their team. Carefully he approached them, always on guard against a possible booby trap. He reached out to the first one and checked for a pulse on his neck and his hand came away bloodied. He went to the other and knew there was no need to check for signs of life. Half of the head was missing in the back, remnants of grey matter clinging in strands from the skull.
He pulled their dog tags and motioned for the others to join him. They approached just as carefully as Clay had done and witnessed for themselves, the gore of war's brutality. Clay took out his knife and slashed the cords holding the bodies up. He shouldered one, while Private Ken Kennedy took the other. The way was slow going, but after hours of trekking through the jungle, the pick up crew was waiting for them. The bodies were loaded on board and the team sat on either side of them and silently thanked God that it wasn't them instead.
JT rode into Charming with Lenny and Piney, stopping at the Hairy Dog. Wilbur was happy to see them and offered them a drink on the house. Lenny and Piney took the free beers offered, but JT took out his cash and paid for them instead.
"So Will, any signs of bikers since then?"
"Nope, JT. Not a one. I am seeing a half dozen or so coming in and they look like death walking. That shit has a hold of them and they need help getting over it."
"I don't know anything about helping them, but I have seen some of the ones you mentioned, giving us some very nasty looks when we pass by."
"Of course. You took their source away. You're the cause of their misery."
"So, now what? We let them have the shit and everything's cool?"
As they were discussing the issue, the door opened and D.C Unser walked in and came up to the bar.
"Hey guys, saw the bikes outside and thought I'd see what's going on."
"According to Will, no more dealing is going on in here, but he said there's a bunch of people who are hooked on the shit and hate us for getting the bikers busted."
"That right? Who are these folks, Will?"
"You know them, Officer Unser. Tim Hargrave is one. Kyle, what's his name....Jennings is another. Lowell Harland and his buddy, Jimmy Franks. A bunch more. Not hard to spot them. Like I was saying to JT, they look like death walking."
"Yeah, have seen that look on a few people I've seen around town lately. This is because of that shit they were taking, right?"
"You got it, Wayne. Stopping the supply isn't the end of this. They need some help getting over the withdrawal symptoms."
"How we supposed to do that, JT? I can't force them to seek treatment."
"Maybe not, Wayne, but they need it just the same."
"You got any ideas on it then, Piney?"
"No, but something's got to happen. Can't have them out there wasting away on the street."
"Great, just when I think it's over, it's actually just beginning."
"You can wait until they commit an offence and force them into treatment can't you? Sort of like a condition of some kind?"
"Sure, but what crime do I let happen, before I do that, Lenny?"
