PREDATOR IF IT BLEEDS

by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

  Unable to look away from Byrne’s mutilated form, he instead studied the extensive damage inflicted upon the lieutenant’s body. John Coffren had been the one to find him, nearly twenty meters from where Roland was standing when the ambush came, along with the bizarre sequence of events accompanying it which resulted in the deaths of Scotty Pearson and, it seemed, Lieutenant Byrne.

  “What I want to know is why they ran,” said Coffren. “You heard them, right? Something spooked the shit out of them.”

  Roland nodded. In addition to Byrne’s body, the team had found eight dead Viet Cong soldiers sprawled in the jungle. The positions of their bodies indicated not all of them had died as a result of the recon team’s return fire during the attack. Four were killed some distance from where Leisner determined the ambush was set, and one of those had died in a manner similar to Pearson, with a massive wound punched through the center of his chest.

  What the hell does that kind of damage?

  “We can’t stay here,” said Coffren. “The pricks we didn’t shoot will be back, and they’ll have friends.”

  Glancing past the other Marine, Roland studied the bunker set into the side of the sloping hill. All but invisible in the thick jungle undergrowth, the hideaway was a shelter built from tree branches and other broad-leaf vegetation designed to let the structure blend into its surroundings. So effective was the bunker’s camouflage that the recon team’s point man, Leisner, almost tripped over the damned thing. It was an unexpected find, yielding nothing of use or potential value, although the ambush was enough to prove that Charlie must have known they would be here to investigate.

  This was enough to make Roland nervous, especially in light of their mission to find any evidence of a prisoner of war camp somewhere in this stretch of the Quảng Trị Province’s northern boundary. Rumors about such a camp had circulated off and on for months with nothing to back them up, and the issue was set aside as more pressing matters demanded the attention of recon teams. Things only heated up again when it became known that the son of a prominent United States senator was an Air Force pilot shot down somewhere near the demilitarized zone. If a POW camp existed in this area, it would be a logical place to take the pilot, assuming he was even still alive.

  Familiar enough with the region, both from studying charts and photos as well as time spent surveying it on the ground and in the air, Roland was confident no camp was here. Regardless, orders were orders, and it had been with a degree of renewed urgency that his team was dispatched to investigate. Unlike typical Force Recon patrols, this outing was planned as a short hop and pop into the area, with a five-man team to keep things light, fast and mobile. Forty-eight hours on the ground after a near-dawn insertion to validate or refute the intel about the POW camp and then out, hopefully without attracting enemy attention.

  The plan lasted the better part of thirty-six hours before going to shit, as Byrne and Pearson could testify.

  “Remind me to cock-punch those S-2 assholes when we get back,” said Coffren. “They said this place was supposed to be quiet.”

  Roland grunted in agreement. The team’s pre-mission intelligence briefing indicated no significant enemy activity or movement in the area, an assertion which had gone up in smoke. Now, the question was to what degree that intel was incorrect.

  “If those guys were part of a larger force,” he said, “then we’re in some right deep shit.”

  Coffren replied, “Neck deep, and with raging hemorrhoids.” He was busying himself with finding room in his rucksack and pockets for the extra magazines he now held. Both he and Roland along with Leisner had divided the remaining ammunition carried by Byrne and Pearson. Coffren had taken the extra step of burying the dead men’s weapons and other equipment that was of no further use.

  “I think we got lucky,” said Roland. “If they really knew we were coming and had time to plan, they’d have set up a larger ambush and cut us to shit.”

  The Viet Cong were notorious for their ambush tactics, which involved elaborate setups that took into account everything from weather to terrain, and involved recon and tracking activities which might take hours and even days to bring to fruition as they prepared to attack a targeted force. However, that did not rule out a smaller contingent performing its own recon patrol and simply taking advantage of time and opportunity to carry out its own ambush.

  “Maybe we spooked them, but next time? They’ll have our asses. We need to get gone. Now.” Removing his boonie hat, Roland wiped sweat from his face. Even with the relatively cool January temperatures, the jungle was still hot and humid. “Too bad we can’t call for a ride.”

  Despite Roland’s misgivings, none of the team even carried a radio in accordance with their orders. Their mission called for such stealth that in the minds of those calling the shots back at HQ, even the risk of monitored communications carried too much risk. Of course, that ruled out calling for helicopter extraction ahead of the prearranged rendezvous time and location. Like the others, Roland had memorized that information rather than marking it on the map he carried in his pocket, in the event he was captured or killed and the map found by enemy soldiers. He knew he could navigate with his map and compass to the landing zone. They just had to get there by the scheduled time. If for some reason they failed to make that rendezvous, there was a backup time and LZ location. After that? They were screwed.

  So, let’s start hoofing.

  “Guys,” said Leisner, who was standing several yards away. “Check this out.”

  Strapping Pearson’s M79 and bandolier of remaining grenades across his back, Roland moved with Coffren to join their companion. Roland was the first to see what had drawn the other Marine’s attention. It was the body of yet another Vietnamese soldier, killed in a manner similar to Pearson and the other Cong. The corpse lay face down, with the muddy ground visible through the hole in its torso.

  Coffren frowned. “One of you guys packing a rocket launcher you didn’t tell me about?”

  “He may have been the leader,” said Roland, kneeling next to the body and indicating the canvas satchel slung across its left shoulder. After verifying the bag wasn’t booby-trapped, he removed it from the dead soldier and opened it. Papers comprised most of the contents, along with a pair of maps, which he handed to Leisner.

  “Holy shit,” said the other Marine after a minute studying the find. “This is a map of the province and the surrounding area. Look what’s marked.” The faster he talked, the more his distinctive Upper Midwest inflections asserted themselves.

  Leaning for a closer look, Roland recognized several terrain features as well as Vietnamese and American military bases in proximity to the demilitarized zone. He couldn’t help but note the lines drawn toward U.S.-controlled locations such as Đông Hà, Da Nang, and Quảng Trị City, along with numerous others across South Vietnam.

  “What are these figures supposed to be?” asked Coffren.

  Leisner shrugged. “I think it’s code.” The group’s designated translator, he could speak and read Vietnamese, including several of the trickier dialects. After a moment, the Marine’s eyes widened. “Damn. I think this might be an attack plan.”

  “Where?” asked Roland.

  “Everywhere.” Leisner stabbed the map. “This looks like a major offensive.”

  Coffren asked, “When?”

  “Don’t know. Nothing here indicates a date or time.”

  “Could it be for the attacks they just pulled?” The memories of the recent rocket and mortar assault on Quảng Trị Base and other American targets just days earlier, prior to their departure for this mission, were still fresh in Roland’s mind.

  Leisner shook his head. “This looks bigger than all of that. A lot bigger.”

  “We take it with us.” Roland gestured with his satchel toward the map. “Somebody smarter than us can figure it out when we get back.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got about twelve hours to make it to the LZ. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

 
* * *

  The three humans were walking into a trap.

  Lurking high above the jungle floor and using both the now fading darkness and the thick tree canopy for concealment, Nk’mecci watched the genesis of the attack as it evolved. The sensors in his bio-mask showed him the heat signatures of the twelve bodies maneuvering into position, well away from the narrow rail that wound through the undergrowth for some distance toward a larger, wider path used by ground vehicles. In another direction, he observed that the jungle gave way to a large, relatively clear area dominated by high grass. Based on his observation of the smaller group’s progress through the region, Nk’mecci suspected that glade might well be a location designated for retrieval by one of their airborne vehicles.

  With fascination, he observed this larger force’s inspection of the area, working as if to anticipate the course being charted by the interlopers before assuming positions within the thick foliage. The group had decided on a straightforward arrangement of the individual combatants, with a portion of them directing their weapons toward the approach vector they expected their adversaries to utilize. The balance of the group was arrayed along what should be a flank, assuming the targets followed their current path through the undergrowth. It was a tactic not that dissimilar from schemes Nk’mecci utilized as a young, unblooded Yautja learning the ways of the hunt on the homeworld under his father’s tutelage. Those schemes were designed to stalk and kill large game animals, though experience taught him they were useful against more intelligent quarry, as well. Such appeared to be the case here.

  Nk’mecci shifted his position, adjusting his bio-mask’s visual sensors to increase their magnification. The trio of invaders was now visible, unknowingly making their way toward the site of the coming ambush. He had trailed their progress throughout the previous day until they settled into a defensive position as darkness fell. Only then had he detected the presence of the enemy force. The three now were charting a course running parallel to the established jungle trail which allowed them to utilize the undergrowth for concealment. They were not charting a direct path for the glade, but their only logical reason for being in this area, based on their past behavior, was a rendezvous just after daylight. Though they moved with stealth and alertness, they appeared to have no idea what awaited them. If all went according to plan, the attackers would be able to take their prey with ease.

  The ambush would be a slaughter.

  * * *

  Feeble, predawn sunlight filtered through the trees, providing the only illumination. It was sufficient for Roland to make out the ground ahead of him. Moving in a slow, deliberate fashion, he chose each step with care, stopping each time to listen and search for signs of danger. The telltale sounds of insects and even the odd bird filled the air, but otherwise the only thing he heard was his own breathing, which he fought to keep low and regular.

  Almost there.

  A nerve-wracking day spent traversing the jungle followed by a defensive watch to get them through the night had brought them to this point. If his read of the map and compass were correct, they were less than an hour from the primary extraction point. Sixty minutes and he and the others would be on the chopper, heading back to base.

  It would feel like an eternity.

  Unable to sleep, Roland spent the quiet hours trying to order his thoughts. There would be much to report upon their return, particularly about the strange weapons which had killed Byrne and Pearson. Were the Russians supplying some kind of new technology to the Cong? That didn’t explain the dead Vietnamese soldiers, but the thing had come from somewhere. Who was responsible?

  The spooks can figure it out.

  Two short, low hisses from behind him made him pause in mid-step. The muted warning from John Coffren told him that the other Marine had heard or seen something. With agonizing slowness, Roland placed his foot back to the ground before lowering himself into a crouch. Once there, he shifted just enough to see Coffren. The lance corporal squatted five meters behind him, the barrel of his shotgun resting across his left forearm. Behind him and separated by a similar interval, Bill Leisner had dropped to one knee, his M16 up and ready. Coffren, his gaze focused on Roland, pointed toward his own eyes, then gestured toward the jungle ahead of them.

  Enemy spotted.

  Turning to look in the indicated direction, Roland scanned the jungle, searching for movement or anything which looked out of place; some shadow or shape that seemed not to belong. Though his eyes and ears told him nothing was there, every muscle and nerve ending signaled danger. Despite his best efforts, Roland felt his breathing quicken in anticipation, and his pulse now pounded in his ears. Staring into the gloom, he felt his right hand tightening around his M16’s pistol grip.

  Something’s wrong, damn it!

  The crack of a tree limb, perhaps thirty or forty meters away, was like a rifle shot ripping apart the silence around them. Roland jerked his head around to look for the source, catching sight of something moving among the high branches of a tall tree. A dark silhouette scrambled as though trying to keep from falling. Without thinking, Roland lifted his M16 and sighted down its barrel.

  He was too late. Someone else fired first.

  AK-47 fire from multiple points among the dense undergrowth tore apart the night air. Roland flattened himself on the ground, glancing behind him to see that Coffren and Leisner were following suit. Ahead of them, the gunfire continued, though now it was accompanied by… something else?

  “Hear that?”

  It was Coffren, his voice low. He pointed his shotgun toward the chaos. “It’s the thing that killed Pearson. I’m sure of it.”

  Roland realized his friend was right. Flashes of green light, like tracer fire but larger and slower, were raining down from the trees. Each time one of the pulsing orbs struck they detonated like dynamite, and Roland saw a figure silhouetted by the blast.

  “Ambush,” said Leisner, who had crawled closer to his companions. “Jesus, we almost walked right into it.”

  Rifle fire concentrated on the tree that was the source of the odd light, and Roland saw the other, larger figure moving with speed and agility among the branches. Who the hell could move like that?

  Shouts from somewhere else in the nearby bush, anxious voices yelling in Vietnamese, were accompanied by shots. This time, the rounds were coming in their direction, and Roland and the others flattened themselves on the ground.

  “I think they know we’re here,” said Leisner.

  Exchanging his rifle for the M79 slung across the top of his rucksack, Roland breached the weapon and exchanged the buckshot round for one of the high-explosive shells from the bandolier he’d taken off Scotty Pearson. Leisner was already firing his M16 into the brush, and Coffren added four shots from his Remington shotgun. Raising his head, Roland caught sight of two enemy soldiers crouching behind a fallen tree.

  “Fire in the hole.” He aimed the M79 and pulled the trigger. A second later the grenade struck the tree in front of the enemy soldiers and detonated. Roland saw both men fall back and out of sight. For the first time, he realized that all of the other shooting seemed to have stopped.

  “How many?” he asked, dropping to a knee.

  Coffren, bracing his left shoulder against a thick tree, fed new shells into his shotgun. “Ten or twelve at the start. No idea, now.”

  “Over there!” shouted Leisner, elevating his M16’s muzzle as though sighting on a target well above the ground.

  Roland tracked the other man’s aim in time to see the dark figure scrambling among the high branches. The thing was huge, far larger than a man, and crossing gaps between trees that were too far for any normal person to negotiate. Its size and agility were matched only by its speed, which was almost too fast to follow.

  Coffren unloaded his shotgun while Leisner emptied another magazine from his M16. None of the rounds seemed to find their mark, as the shadowy figure lunged from branch to branch. Reloading the M79 with the buckshot round, Roland shifted his aim just as t
he thing stopped less than ten meters away, and he saw something on its left shoulder pivoting as though aiming in their direction.

  “Look out!”

  The warning came too late as a blob of green energy spat forth from the odd device, striking Leisner and driving him backward. Roland saw the bolt drill through the corporal’s chest and chew into the damp, muddy ground behind him. Already dead, Leisner fell in a limp heap, his jungle hat falling from his head and revealing his open, unseeing eyes.

  “No!”

  Roland aimed the M79. Before he fired, he had time to note the figure’s bizarre appearance—a helmet that covered its face and clothing that looked more like mesh covering a massive, muscled body. A belt and harness carried numerous items, none of which Roland recognized.

  What the hell is it?

  He pulled the trigger and the thing started to move but the grenade was faster. The expanding cloud of buckshot hit it full in the chest, knocking it from its perch and sending it crashing toward the ground.

  Out of buckshot, Roland loaded the launcher with one of his remaining high-explosive rounds. He aimed the weapon where the thing had fallen. Was it still alive? Where had it come from? He started to advance, but stopped when he felt Coffren’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Listen!” his friend hissed, and pointed toward the sky. “Choppers.”

  * * *

  The pain was severe, yet manageable.

  Nk’mecci rolled onto his side, every movement a small agony as he took stock of his condition. The swarm of projectiles had inflicted several wounds across his torso and extremities. His bio-mask remained functional, allowing him to see the two remaining humans plunging deeper into the jungle. Judging by their movements, they were discarding stealth in exchange for speed while seeking escape. In the distance, Nk’mecci heard the familiar sound of human air vehicles, drawing closer with each passing moment.