Part 5- Pvt. Leonard Cooke

173rd Airborne Brigade, Bravo Company 4/503

November 3, 1967

We were never going to Kontum in the first place. I guess all the grunts were here in ‘Nam so long that they would believe anything. Kontum. Like a five hour walk. I hate this place. I shouldn’t even be here. Since MLK, there was no such thing as a “Nigger fountain” but I just had to fight that officer didn’t I? Fucking bullshit. I don’t know how much more I can take. The thought of Kim keeps me from shooting myself.

Bugs. Heat. Every fucking day! I can’t even keep track of the number of bug bites on my neck. This was bullshit. This morning they woke us up sayin that the enemy was here. They killed a bunch of monkeys. Baboon looking creatures.

As I swat bugs out of my face, we come to a stop. The sound of mud sloshing underneath boots ceases. I hate this shit. I’m on the verge of pissing myself. Up ahead they saw some defense position or something. I try to peak ahead at our squad leader, but there are to many people in the way. All I see is dark and light skins coated in green. On their sleeves I see the insignia of the 173rd Airborne. An angel’s wing with a red sword underneath it.

Our squad leader ordered us to move our position us a little more. We sneak forward some. That’s when I know what we’re doing. I see guns and Vietnamese figures about fifty yards away. We’re well hidden since the only way we could see them was through the trees. After whispering up ahead, Ace and Leroy throw a grenade. Damn, they can throw far. The two grenades land in the defense area. I can’t see many details of the explosion, but I hear it, followed by shouts and one tortured scream. As the VC scramble and take aim, the painful scream continues. After a couple lines of gibberish, a shot is fired and the tortured VC stops screaming.

The sad thing is this isn’t even a real operation. This was the Airborne division. We were trained to drop out of helicopters, not patrol the fucking jungle. I feel something crawling on my back as the shooting starts. I crouch low, and tell Roy, “Jackson! There’s something on my back!”

As the treetops above up are torn to pieces by bullets, Roy lifts up the back of my jacket and shirt. He shouts over the shooting, “Leeches! Let’s see…seven of ‘em!”

Leeches? Shit. “Get ‘em off Jackson!”

Rebel Roy plucks them all one by one. The he tells me, “Keep the back of that shirt on! Even back at camp! Don’t want to get infected!”

Yeah, if I make it back to camp. The sound of the shooting is driving me crazy. The most surprising part is that they don’t know were we are. They either fired next to us or above us. They didn’t hit a goddamn thing.

The mud sloshes all over my pants. Damn, what I wouldn’t do for a hot shower. I see a soldier in front of me, shooting through the trees. Written across his helmet is a poem like thing. It damn near takes up the hole helmet. ONE LITTLE TWO LITTLE THREE LITTLE GOOKS. It went on saying how one was gutted, one was shot in the head, and the last was baked by napalm. I reached for his neck.

“What the fuck-”

I show him the leech I plucked from his neck and through it on the ground and step on it. I aim my weapon through the trees. I begin to fire. Not that I’m a good shot. The only good shot I remember having was shooting Jenkins.

A bullet whizzes through the trees and hit’s the soldier with the Gook poem. He wasn’t really hurt. Just pissed. He took his gun and fire wildly. I peek through the trees. He damn near hits all the guys guarding the position.

“Damn,” Chad says from behind me. Chad has been her for awhile, but I just met him this morning. Chad was a beach bum. From the paradise of California to ’Nam. Poor guy.

“Shit! Davis, we ain’t event need to be out here. You got this war taken care of yourself!” Redding laughs.

The soldier with the Gook poem, apparently named Davis, rolls up his sleeve. Then laughs. The bullet didn’t touch him. But it did hit someone. Davis turns around and sees a soldier on the ground. A bullet in his shoulder. The young soldier remains silent.

“Doc!” Roy shouts.

The medic tends to the wounded soldier. A couple of us stay behind. Lucky for me, I’m one of them. The rest of the company goes into the belly of the beast.