a Vietnam story

i recently just watched 'Platoon' again and felt like writing a little story about it... all comments welcome thanks :thumbsup:
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Chapter 1:
Our Chinook set down on a rough dirt patch of ground which was designated the base helipad. Dust scattered into our eyes but before I could clear my view a Sergeant grabbed me and threw me from the helicopter. The others quickly fell into line behind me as the rotor blades on the Chinook sped up and it flew into the skies to pick up more fresh troops from Saigon.
A group of soldiers stared at us from the opening of a tent with cruel grins emblazoned upon their scarred and unshaved faces. “Welcome to hell you unlucky bastards…” muttered one to us and the others chuckled softly, almost remembering that they too were in this ‘hell’.
All the soldiers were busy; reinforcing the bunkers with sand-bags, lugging crates of ammo or fuel around preparing for nothing in particular. They looked like they worked just to take up the time and to stop the officer’s shouts.
I was shown to my bunk by the Sergeant that had so roughly grabbed me from the helicopter. I found my self in a crowded room of about twenty men, with only enough room for ten.
The other men didn’t look at us. We were new. This meant in their terms, we hadn’t been here long enough to earn their respect or even a quick glance. It was unnerving, to say the least, but I sat my pack down next to an empty bunk and unpacked my belonging gazing at the other troops.. We had been travelling here for nearly half a day. And now?
Khe Sahn. A hole of a village we were defending, near the North Vietnamese border. Ferraro grabbed the bunk next to me and riffled through his bags. The troops around us, apart from us new-comers, kept in tight knotted groups with solemn expressions emblazed upon their rugged faces.
“Fuck… You’d have thought we were in hell.” muttered Ferraro, and I reluctantly agreed. Already that is what this place felt like. It wasn’t the cheerful, slightly relaxed, base of Saigon. Everyone seemed so tense.
Eventually the long journey took a hold of me and I rested my head on the thin, bottle green pillow. I glanced over to Ferraro but he was already snoring softly. Eventually I too felt my eye lids close as sleep came over me.

I had been asleep for only a few hours before a private shook me roughly and screamed at me, his voice in a frightened tone, to get up while the rest of the men also scrambled for the exit. “Hurry up idiot! They’re out there!” screamed Ferraro at me. His face was pale and he quickly clicked the safety off the M-16 handed to us by a corporal.
I grasped my M-16 tightly, as if the tighter I held it the safer I would be. It was night time. The noise of insects chirping was pierced by haphazard rounds being let loose at the, seemingly, perilous tree line.
A flare shot into the sky from some unknown position, illuminating the part of the forest the Vietcong were supposedly firing at us from. A soldier next to me directed us to a rough sand-bag wall and we threw ourselves down as bullets flew at the shadowy forest, not aimed at anything in particular. Ferraro was no where to be found.
The soldier next to me, a corporal, fired a few shot blindly at the forest while keeping his head down. He looked at me and asked, “New? What’s your name and where ya from?”
“Richard Caley, sir. From Orange County.” I replied nervously, having not even brought my finger to the trigger yet.
“Sir? I’m a fuckin’ corporal, Caley. The name’s Chutney. Well, that’s what everyone calls me. Don’t ask why.”
He beckoned me to shoot with him and we both rose out guns above the wall to get a view of the forest. All I could see was the dancing, and somehow evil, shadows created by our own flares, but Chutney opened fire so I also squeezed the trigger, feeling the kick on my shoulders.
We were there for another half hour, randomly firing as we heard gunshots from across our defences but no returning fire it was uncomforting, to say the least. Chutney eventually stopped even looking over the wall and I too allowed my adrenaline pumped breathing to falter.
Eventually a sergeant came round and told us it had been a false alarm. Some sentry had accidentally triggered his rifle which sparked the whole camp. I began to think the Vietcong must be watching us fire at nothing and be laughing.
We trudged back to our bunkers and the work carried on as if the false alarm hadn’t even happened. I had only been here for a few hours and I had already noticed the fiasco the base was in. No-one was organised apart from a few soldiers with specific jobs.
Chutney was in the same barracks as me. Apparently their patrolling squad had been ambushed and almost completely wiped out so the new comers were un-officially assigned here. He was friendly enough but there were moments when his eyes went shaded as he remembered his old squad mates.
Ferraro was grinned at me as I entered and I quickly introduced him to Chutney. “Shit,” he said after the introductions, “What the fuck was that about. They interrupted ma beauty sleep for that? Fuck me…” I chuckled lightly.

We woke the next day and our first orders were assigned. Digging fox-holes in the outer perimeter for the three-man sentry posts, like the one that had sparked the false alarm. Work was hard since there was recurring repairs to the encampment as the rains had weakened and destroyed some structures.
That was something that I noticed; the rain. Eventually our squad was deemed ready to patrol again. We had been here a couple of days and I hadn’t even seen one of the enemy.
We assembled near the entrance to Khe Sahn, which was now nothing more than a gap in the perimeter. Sergeant Barkley supposedly commanded us but since the ambush of the patrol the veterans such as Chutney took up the burden and Barkley trudged after us, totally unaware of what was going on, his face a blank mask. Only uttering quick snaps and suggestion at the troops.
It was raining, hard, as per usual. The drops first hit the trees where they gathered in the leaves and then they fell on us in huge drops which soaked through our flimsy army issue coats until I felt the cold liquid ooze onto my skin.
The rain made it hard to move, having to trek through the gathering mud, and slowly the patrol thinned out, the newer troops at the back and the experienced hacking through the bamboo shoots with cruel looking machetes.
Eventually we came to a rice-paddy and our boots filled with brown water as we slowly walked through. It had been turned, fundamentally, into a small lake but the heavy rain. Small strands of rice-plant shot up from the surface in neat rows.
Someone at the front cried out in pain and I heard a vicious crunch up ahead. Chutney sprinted away from me, kicking up water, towards the downed soldier and the rest of us crouched in the mud, looking defensively at the tree line. The veterans ordered us to spread.
The soldier, a Private Gatesby, had stepped into an old, rusting bear trap which was now encased around his left foot. “Rice-paddies,” Chutney had told me, “make excellent places for ‘Charlie’ to lay booby traps.” I was worried that my first patrol would end in disaster.
Sergeant Barkley was the only one of us standing. In fact he was screaming at the tree line. “Bastards!” he shouted, “You want to ruin another one of my patrols you fuckin’ bastards!” A private, another veteran, stood and tried to pull the sergeant down out of view.
His head exploded before his hand had even touched the sergeant and his body was twitching as more bullets hit his torso sending his corpse splashing into the mud. Barkley finally had the sense to duck as more bullets soared at us and a corporal was screaming at us to fire back.
I didn’t know where to shoot but I aimed for a cluster of trees I considered would be a reasonable place for the enemy to hide in. Chutney was dragging the injured soldier back towards the trees behind us, a trail of blood diluting in the muddy water of the rice-paddy.
I turned to retreat with them but as something hit my pack I was flung into the mud. It didn’t even penetrate skin but it was a shock to me to be shot. I crawled for cover, just being able to see a few other soldiers behind a fallen tree providing covering fire.
A hand grabbed me by the collar and hefted me up roughly. “What are you doing crawling in the mud, worm!?! Are you not a soldier of the United States of America?” screamed the Sergeant at me. I nodded gingerly. “Then get your ass into gear and shoot some ‘cong bastards!”
He let me go and I managed to join the rest of the squad in cover, where the Sergeant directed our fire at the trees over the other side of the rice-paddy. Someone blew up the near-by farmers’ building scattering fragments of wood everywhere. To wet to catch flame, they sloshed into the still growing mire.
Finally, my first sight of ‘Charlie’, as a Vietnamese man ran into the rice field and threw some sort of explosive near our position before retreating back to his people. The bomb did nothing but get us even wetter but it was my first sight of the enemy and it helped turn my mind into thinking this place was definitely hell.

The setting is very good, but the story itselfs seems a bit... rough. There is no real ending and the text could do with some polishing. However, I am interested whether this story will continue. ~:thumb:

thanks Ludens... i too thought the story was a little rushed but i wanted to get straight into the action and not have to explain the life in camp... and as an answer to the question about continuing, a shorter bit:

Chapter 2:
Barkley shouted for a ceasefire. There was silence broken only by the groans of the wounded soldier and the unending patter of the rain. I wiped the sweat and water from my face and panted heavily.
“Medic!” said Chutney urgently. There had been none accompanying us so Ferraro twisted his back to allow Barkley to get at the radio and attempted to call back to base. He swore heavily.
The radio had been struck by a bullet. Normally that wouldn’t matter and the radio would still be functional, but muddy water had seeped through the bullet hole and the circuitry had fried and to cap it all off, the spare radio was with the dead soldier in the rice-paddy. We were on our own with one wounded. No, two. Harrison had been shot in the arm and now Barkley was roughly patching his wound.
Vernon, another new-comer, knelt next to me surveying the rice-paddy. We couldn’t see any of the cong but for some reason I felt they were out there. Watching us and tending their own wounded. Vernon was muttering something under his breath and I shifted to hear.
“… and bring us through this, Lord Protector, help us to survive…” I shifted back away. A man should be left to his own prayers. I looked around at the squad, all soaked through and only warm because of the adrenaline pumping through us after the short fight.
They were all going through the rituals I noticed we, soldiers, all did. Praying, feeling lucky talismans and glancing at pictures distorted by the rain. They all did something and I noticed myself doing it as well. I played with my tags as I thought about our problems.
But the time for prayers was over. More bullets erupted from the opposite tree line blasting the bushes and logs we hid behind. Vernon began spraying rounds in ‘Charlie’s direction and I also brought my M-16 to bear. “Shit man… Where they at? Where the gook bastards at?” he said, his persona distinctively portraying the poor black man I first considered him to be.
Two other soldiers set up a M60 next to us on the fallen tree. The belt fed machine gun caused havoc amongst the position of the enemy, ripping a small tree to shreds and blowing a crouching Vietcong soldier into the mud.
That was a lucky shot, though, and the rest of us had no way of knowing if our own bullets hit anything. Ferraro was laughing, shouting at the enemy in, what seemed to me to be, Spanish. He must be a Mexican, coming into America to steal our jobs. Yet, I didn’t even care. He was a funny man and definitely a good shot.
It seemed to be going our way. Our firepower easily outmatched the Vietcong’s and our cover provided enough protection for us not even to have another soldier wounded. I ceased firing to survey the tree line for any movement and to slam another clip into my gun.
I saw him. A Vietcong soldier breaking from the tree line with some sort of bazooka aimed at us. I pulled to trigger while my sight was trained on him, but heard only an echoing click. “Shit, jammed!” Vernon was busy reloading and the enemy soldier managed to pull the trigger before having his body pummelled with bullets.
The rocket propelled grenade screeched toward us, screeching as you would expect cheap fireworks to do. Within seconds our defensive cluster of trees was turned into a fiery ball scattering lumps of wood around us.
Vernon was on the floor screeching with pain. From his side protruded a large, jagged stick. “Ah shit… help me man... HELP ME!” I reached down to check the wound but when I touched it he screamed again in pain.
“Help!” I cried out but there was enough wounded to deal with. The RPG had been deadly, completely breaking up our defence and I was astounded that the weapon had fired in the rain, we had be told that the enemies quality of weapons were suspect in bad weather. But I had no time to ponder.
I grabbed Vernon’s M-16 and fired a few rounds towards the Vietcong. Chutney was screaming a retreat so I shouldered the guns and grabbed Vernon by the collar and dragged him back with the rest of the squad, all the while he was screaming in agony but there was nothing I could do until we were in cover. “Don’t worry man,” I said to him, “it’s gonna be alright!”
Barkley snarled at me to hurry, his helmet gone and blood matting his dark hair, but I couldn’t go any faster lest the wounded Vernon be hurt further. “Shit!” said another black soldier as he sprinted past, his sleeve missing and his arm red with blood.
Chutney eventually came back for us, grabbing the wounded man’s legs so we could get back to a rocky crag that would become our next defensive position. Already Barkley had organised the two M60’s into covering us but the Vietcong had not advanced across the rice-paddy yet.
Finally we got to the crag and behind a large rock Chutney grimaced at me and began to tend the wounded Vernon, still screaming in pain. “Welcome to ‘nam kid.”

Better! ~:thumb:

yeah, liking this, gritty. the almost sparse description actually helps, cos it doesn't get in the way of the action too much. but the basic air of the main character not knowing what the hell he's doing is very authentic.
don't know whether you should avoid the 'Nam cliches too much or just go for them 100%, so far you've balanced it nicely though. :2thumbsup:

thanks guys! here is the next bit

Chapter 3:
With our defences set up once again but in a different position, Chutney came over to discuss our situation. He sat down in the mud next to me and sighed.
“That new black soldier won’t be able to travel without a medic.” he said slowly, “I don’t know what the hell we are going to do… and you’ve got a leech on your neck.”
I jumped in surprise and felt for the foul creature.
“What about the radio?” I asked as I wiped away the blood caused by the leech.
“It is completely bust, and Vernon was the only one trained to fix the damn thing.” he swore to himself and his eyes opened with realisation. “The other radio!” I thought about it. The radio lying in the middle of a booby trapped rice-paddy, with the Vietcong just on the other side able to see us and inevitably gun us down.
But we had to do it. There was no way we would be able to retreat to the base with Vernon and the other one injured. We went to Barkley to discuss it.
“Sarge, we have a plan to get help.” said Chutney to the man as Barkley wiped the blood from his forehead and bandaged his wound. “We need someone to flank the Vietcong position, while me, Caley and Ferraro sneak up to the rice-paddy and grab the radio from Jacobs, who got killed there.”
“Jacobs… I thought he died ages ago.” came the weak reply.
“No sir… He was injured though. Now what about the plan?”
“Ok. I’ll take Henderson, King, Hardie and Tubby and flank south of the Vietcong position. You head direct.” Chutney nodded softly
The rain stopped, almost as abruptly as it had started. Replacing the constant patter of rain came the never ending buzzing of the flies and mosquitoes, free to do their business in the ended rain. The annoying bugs covered my face and I was amazed how little Chutney cared. Later he told me once he had to pretend to be dead while the cong was searching his position; all the while flies had covered his face.
The more I learned about him the worried I was that things like that would happen to me. We said I goodbyes to the rest of the squad and Barkley’s little group of veterans, and trekked our way back towards the rice-paddy.

Chutney crouched so I crouched behind him, Ferraro was a few meters away, and then the veteran began to crawl his way towards the edge of the area, indicating that I should wait. Our signal was but the sound of an M60. I didn’t know the difference between the sound of an M60 or an AK-47.
I swatted at a fly and scanned the opposing tree-line. Chutney was near invisible to me, half covered with leaves and mud. I wondered if the enemy would ever see him but I had been amazed by some of the stories about ‘Charlie’ sniping off camouflaged marines from a hundred yards through dense forest. An exaggeration, yes, but there must be some fact behind the fiction.
Suddenly I heard it; gun fire piercing the distance, making the birds erupt from their nests in the trees. I rose to run for the radio but Chutney hissed at me to stay down. The M60 mustn’t have fired yet.
I was worried, the gun-fire had been going on for a few minutes now and still we waited, viewing our target. What if Chutney had heard wrong and the signal had already gone. What if-
Chutney rose from the floor after another bout of gunfire, mud dripping from his uniform. We sprinted through the knee-deep water the body of our comrade barely visible above the water. I ducked as the bullets started coming and Chutney screamed at me to keep going as he spattered the tree-line with covering fire. Ferraro was screaming in his native language again firing bursts at the trees.
I dived next to the dead soldier throwing my M-16 away as I checked the man’s pack. His face was matted with blood which was drying a dark scarlet in the harsh Vietnam sun. I grabbed his side to pull him over to get at the radio easier.
“Shit!” I cried. The ‘dead’ soldier was panting heavily and groaning lightly in agony. He was alive, barely. His skull had collapsed where one bullet had scrapped his head and I found several more bullet holes across his body. “Chutney! He’s alive!”
The veteran fired off another round before replying, “The unlucky son of a bitch… Get on the radio Caley! We need air support and fast! Our co-ordinates are roughly 345.89, 876.90! Codeword: Capricorn.”
I nodded and felt for the radio, the wounded soldier had begun to froth at the mouth and my hands were quickly staining with his blood, but I retrieved it and found it to be in decent working order, it was just a little red.
“Capricorn, Capricorn!” I screamed into the mike after switching it on.
“We read you Capricorn, what are your needs?” came the quiet, crackly reply.
“We’ve got several wounded -two extremely- our co-ordinates are roughly 345.89, 876.90! Come quickly!” a few bullets splashed near me, making patterns in the water.
“Roughly? Is your commanding officer there?” came the voice again.
“You shit-head! We’re in the middle of a rice-paddy getting our asses blown off and you ask for my fucking C.O! Just send in the fucking ‘copters” We needed help, bad. Ferraro was laughing and Chutney was hooting defiance at the enemy.
“Ok soldier, just hang in there,” a pause, “We’re sending in a squadron of UH-1B’s, stay tight.”
“They’re sending in a squad of Huey’s!” I screamed at Chutney. But now back to the fighting, I thought. I had lost my M-16 when I had thrown it down to search for the radio but the wounded soldier, still groaning in pain, had strapped to his belt an 40mm M-79 Grenade Launcher and several explosives.
It was an unfamiliar weapon, having only fired it a few times in my slightly rushed training, but I loaded it fast enough and fired a shot at the Vietcong position. The grenade fell short but made them falter in their fire. Or perhaps Chutney or Ferraro had hit one of them.
More bullets struck near me, as if a handful of pebbles had cascaded into the water. Chutney cried out in pain, another wounded. He was clutching his leg but was strong enough to fire the M-16 with one hand. I ran to him and dived to check his wound out instead he shoved his rifle into my hands and snatched the small grenade launcher from me.
He loaded it without looking and snarled at me to fire at the enemy. I was astounded by the skill in which he fired controlled the gun with almost perfect accuracy, it landed in the trees and the screams of the enemy were only drowned out by the sounds of distant rotor-blades.

and here is the website i have been using apart from my own limited knowledge... it is just pictures but it has helped me get a few ideas

http://www.vietnampix.com/

Nice story mate, well written.

sorry this was so late... i forgot all about it after i had a huge piece of course work to do... but here it is: chapter 4 and i have also fully edited the original chapters so you kinda have to read them again to fully understand


Chapter 4:
The Huey squadron blasted into view drowning out the noise of battle and causing ripples to erupt in the water logged rice-paddy. We waved at them in ecstasy and an eminent sense of victory. The troops in the helicopters were hanging out the side doors, firing their own weapons at the Vietcong. One Huey sent fiery missiles into the trees and the screams of the dieing enemy sounded over the roaring rotor blades.
It was as if all out troubles were over. The soldiers in the ‘copters were jumping recklessly from their vehicles to join us as we advanced towards the ‘cong. Bullets sliced the air meters away from us but the moment of victory had come.
A well placed RPG ended my feeling of elation as it slammed into the nose of one of our Hueys sending burning fuel and metal to rain down upon us. I uncontrollably pounded a smoking piece of my uniform which looked more like a tattered scrap of cloths and mud after the fight.
More RPG’s flew from the enemy position like fireworks, screaming there way towards the helicopters. Eventually the Hueys began to pull up higher, bullets clanging off their armour like the sound of chimes in the wind.
One of the soldiers from the Hueys ran to me and screamed above the sound of battle and rotor blades “Where the are your wounded, soldier?” and then into his radio built into his helmet, “Steve, I’ve made contact, cover our retreat and then paint the trees with fire boys.”
The man was obviously an officer but his rank was unknown to me because he wore an old brown leather flight jacket over his uniform. I pointed back to the other tree line and screamed for Chutney to come. The veteran fired another grenade into ‘Charlie’s position and retreated with us. Ferraro and another soldier carried the badly wounded radio operator.
The leather clad officer allowed a quick glance at the burning wreck of the Huey before jogging, almost casually, along side us. A burst of bullets pursued us but we were safe. Well as safe as you could get in Vietnam.
I fired a few shots back at the tree line. But as quick as the Vietcong had ambushed us they had gone. “Shit,” said the officer, “Name’s Lt. Sharpe by the way kid…” I said nothing.
“A waste huh?” he continued, “A fuckin’ waste. Where are the rest of you sorry bastards?” We clambered onto the Huey swiftly. The radio officer was dead before we got him onto the Huey. At least his pitiful groaning had stopped.
“Two hundred meters south-east from here. About twenty of us are holed up in a rocky crag.” replied Chutney before I could. He was clutching his leg; blood was wreathed down his arm almost artistically.
The officer then spoke some orders into his headset. I tried to shuffle over to Chutney but Ferraro jumped in the Huey between us. Then the helicopter shook as it took off from the uneven ground.
No more shots came from the tree-line. In fact the jungle was almost surreal in its calmness. We had just fought a mini battle in some foreign jungle and for what? A bullet wound, a whole lot of mud and a few dead comrades.
I felt like shit. I wasn’t even paying attention as the Huey’s took us over the bristling trees and rice paddies. There was no medic on board and Chutney had to take the pain. Ferraro was grimly staring at the trees, as if he too were thinking what I was thinking. Was keeping Vietnam commy free really worth the struggle and death that I had seen, on only my first few weeks? I doubted it.
The squad of helicopters reached the rocky out crop. “Ah… Shit…” came a voice from the cockpit. I looked over at the rocks. Blood was mixed with the sodden earth and shell casings were littered throughout the rocks.
“No!” exclaimed Chutney, “Fucking bastards…” Sergeant Barkley and his small group were huddled grimly about a group of crumpled bodies. I thought he was crying but it was just the perspiration on his face and the distance from the helicopter. If he was crying no-one would have blamed him, two patrols in almost a month.
As our Huey drew closer to the floor I shouted out, “What the hell happened?” but they couldn’t over the noise of the rotor blades.
When we were sufficiently close enough to the ground I jumped out and splashed into knee height mud. Another splash happened next to me as Ferraro followed; Chutney was still in the Huey, clutching his wounds.
“What the hell happened?” I shouted again, dragging myself from the mud.
“God knows…” muttered Hardie, sat on a small, blood covered rock.
“We came back to late.” said Barkley, “Took your fucking time getting to the fucking radio though didn’t you?”
I couldn’t shrug off the question, but I didn’t want to answer. Ferraro spat over his shoulder but was silently glancing at the bodies. “Leave nothing for the gooks…” continued Barkley. He turned to the bodies slowly, almost cautiously. “I didn’t even know these unlucky sons of bitches.”

excellent work GiantMonkeyMan, keep it coming. Really good sense of grim and muddy combat and how confusing it must be, the way the soldiers' emotions keep seesawing up and down. :2thumbsup:

I am too tired too think of an appropriate comment, so I am just going second Matteus. Excellent work, GiantMonkeyMan ~:thumb: .

Great work GMM! :2thumbsup:

Strange how the main character is so green and junior though, yet still screaming profanity down the radio and at his CO.

Chapter 5:
It had been three days since the ambush. Patrols weren’t allowed out now with less than 25 men, but usually half-companies scoured the area for Vietcong positions. Even that was useless. The ‘cong ambushed us every now and again, but whenever we came across one of their well positioned bases, they were long gone.
Yet still we were bogged down with menial and pointless tasks, like improving the weather worn defences of Khe Sahn. It was another week before I realised mail to us wasn’t getting through, along with supplies and life-saving ammunition.
The increase of Vietcong bunkers with anti-air support was thinning the Chinook supply line from Saigon. The CO of Khe Sahn, a greying Colonel Fatcher, was increasingly seen screaming into the radio back to the operatives in Saigon.
It was nerve racking to say the least. We all knew it was coming, we just didn’t want to be the unlucky bastards to suffer through this again. We were ordered out on patrol. Any spare companies, leaving a small garrison to guard what was left of the village of Khe Sahn.
We searched the area intensively anything that was remotely resembling a gook hideout was scouted out and sometimes bombed by the resident Hueys. We called in more napalm strikes in those weeks than any other position. I felt like a ghost, patrolling an empty jungle in search for a hidden, laughing enemy.
It might have seemed futile but supplies steadily increased, just as we began thorough sweeps of Vietnamese villages. In our patrol even Ferraro and I were seen as veterans amongst the scores of newcomers that filled our ranks once again.

“Caley! Stop daydreaming and pick up your gear, you idiot. We’re movin’ out” said Sergeant Barkley harshly. “There’s a village near a bunker that some guys from 3rd company flushed out. We goin’ in with them under the command of Capt. Luscombe and they are not goin’ to wait for some fool of a private. Hurry up, dip-shit!”
I daren’t react from the tirade but my face must have been an emblem of anger for Barkley laughed and strode off. I spat and hefted my gear and was handed an M-16 by an arms distributor who nodded grimly to me.
I met up with Chutney at the entrance again and he was smiling cheerfully, this was his first mission back from injury. Ferraro joined us as the rest of our company assembled. Our own commander, Captain Leroy, glanced briefly at his watch before signalling for us to leave.
The village was situated on a hill to escape any flooding caused by the endless spatter of rain. It’s inhabitants might not have even known a war was on due to it’s remoteness. The recruits were struggling to keep up with our pace but their respective Sergeants drilled them on to the insignificant wooden buildings just visible through the dense foliage.
Chutney was whistling a tune merrily as he lugged a machine gun through the mud. “How the hell do you do it? How do you keep going?” I thought, only realising that my tiredness had let it slip out for Chutney to mull over.
“It’s better than crying all the time about stuff. I’m not an amazing person Caley,” he told me with a smile on his face, “Your braver than you think you are and you cou-” He dropped to the ground with a splash in the mud. The echoing crack of the shot still sounded as the first of Chutney’s gargled cries erupted from his thrashing body.
“MEDIC!” someone screamed. I just stared at him almost paralysed by the shock but was barged out the way by an overweight medic.
The blood seeped steadily from the hole like a flood, sweeping across the mud stained clothes of the veteran and cascading into the brown water. Chutney’s face was wet. I’d like to think that it was the rain that soaked us thoroughly but I dared to believe deep down that it was the his tears that covered his face.
I felt helpless as he lay, almost smiling, the wound led him from this world like we were led to this foreign field. I was kneeling next to him and could now feel the numb cold of the muddy rain seep into my boots. I knew that tears for my friend caused my own sodden face.
I stared into his face with worry but either he ignored me or was too far from this world to notice me at all. The numbing cold was nothing compared to the numbing pain I felt inside. The medic was tearing off his uniform to get at the wound and blood bubbled out of Chutney’s mouth.
Captain Leroy came, took a quick look at Chutney's blood covered body before having a few words with the medic and then leaving. The medic wiped away the blood only for more blood to erupt from his body like lava from a volcano.
He tried, in vain, to speak to me but the blood caused only a devilish gurgling to come from his mouth and then the medic told him to shut-up. Ferraro dragged me away to give another medic room to help just as another shot cleaved through the trees and into another soldier.
But for him I held no love and I stared at the blood soaked chest of my friend. Ferraro tried to get my attention, I’m pretty sure of that. But my head wouldn’t turn to face him. In the end he sent me sprawling to the floor with a mean punch. I was on all fours in the mud when he picked me up again.
“Hombre, get a fucking grip. He’ll be fine.” he said slowly. I wiped my face, swigged some water from my canteen and then blushed at my embarrassing episode in front of these new recruits. It was funny how I was almost the veteran in their eyes, like Chutney was in mine.
“Hey Caley,” said Ferraro again, “There’s a sniper up ahead what do we do?”
“Why, we kill the bastard of course.” I said to aid Ferraro’s little show in front of the newcomers. He smiled wickedly at me and gave me a light slap on the cheek.
“Lets go then.”

Is there still life in this story? I hope you haven't given up on it.

well i had exams so i stopped writing and then started revising (if you can call what i did revising :laugh4: ) and once mt exams were over i lost the inspiration that drove me to start the story and when i read back over it i found many things which i didn't like that i had put in there so i decided to stop :sweatdrop: sorry for any regular readers (if i had any)

GMM

Pity, but it can't be helped. Thanks for taking us so far.