The Ghosts of My Lai

by JC Braswell

  Williams faced that choice more than once in Vietnam: after the massacre; after his first kill; and the night after he’d watched Anuska get cut down. The burning resentment built within. He wanted to see the unnamed punished, tortured to the point of praying for death. Ultimately, he wanted him dead like the others. Some men were wicked enough to be put to death, but this was different.

  He reached into his pocket, his fingers gripping the crumpled picture of Anuska’s kids. This would be his redemption for failing to protect his family and for leading his boys into My Lai. He chose to carry on his friends’ legacies, their stories. He would not be an animal.

  Williams lay there, Simmons’s satisfaction apparent in his grin, holding his hands up like he was giving glory to some tainted deity. The dumbshit Southerner had cursed them all with his selfish desires fueled by malice. They were officially alone and lost. There was no going back.

  “You looking at me like death, Williams. Careful there. I did what was right.” Simmons’s contorted face looked towards the jungle as he buried the Death Dealer card into the VC’s exposed brain matter. “If that’s what you all want, you stupid gooks, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

  Simmons fired off a few rounds from his handgun. The jungle remained in mourning.

  “I don’t hear much, Simmons. Maybe we scared them off?” Harris said.

  “Sure seems like it.” Simmons smiled.

  “Say, Jackson, you wouldn’t happen to have any more ammo…for the road and all? My pack is all out,” Harris asked. None of them seemed to care that a dead man was sprawled out in the middle of their position.

  “Yeah, I got one magazine left, but how we supposed to get out of here now? You were relying on the—”

  “Shut up, you black-ass shit,” Simmons said. “If it weren’t for your ignorance, we might be in the valley by now on our way to camp. Now hand over the ammo.”

  “Williams is the officer. Not you, fool.” Jackson rose to his feet, his head tilted in anger. There was no stopping the inevitable.

  “I thought we already established new chain of command. Look at your lieutenant now, facedown, weak. Can barely walk. Yeah, that’s a sure sign of a leader. More like a heartless college grad who volunteered to get away from his problems.”

  “He’s a good man.” Jackson grew more brazen.

  “Jackson, don’t,” Williams said, still keeping an eye on the horizon, waiting for the unknown to make itself known once more.

  “If he’s such a good man then why’d he almost get us killed?” Simmons smiled. This is what he wanted.

  “You used to be a good man, too. You’re just some shell of who you used to be.”

  “And who the hell are you to tell me who I used to be?” Simmons leveled his handgun, this time at one of their own.

  “Simmons, what…what are you doing? You can’t just shoot him,” Donovan said.

  It was the spark that lit his fire. Williams moved quicker than he had since the accident, past the pain from his quadriceps and the delirium of fever. He pushed up from the dirt and whipped his pistol out just like he did as a youngster playing cowboys and Indians. Simmons’s scarred forehead was in his sights.

  “What?” Simmons laughed “You serious? You’re going to pull a gun on me again?”

  “LT.” Harris took a few steps back at his side. He waited for the teenager to train his handgun on him, but Harris was fresh out of bullets.

  “Simmons. Listen to me, and listen to me clearly. You’re going to put the weapon down and turn around,” Williams commanded, his fingers tingling with anticipation. Simmons’s arms shook. He was poised to kill. “I know where you are right now. We’re all there with you, brother. What we did back there, that wasn’t right. What you did right now, that wasn’t right. You can’t take us further down that road, not with what’s waiting for us. You’ll take us all with you.”

  “What do you know about what we did back there and my war? We’re soldiers and we fight. Those VCs, they killed our brothers, they killed our boys, and you just want to coddle them like some liberal pussy.” Simmons waved his gun around in the air.

  “I know enough that we can still make this right. Yeah, there are those commie assholes out there that we should take out, but not like this. We’re better than that.” Williams’s thoughts wavered. Concentrating became harder.

  “Better than what? A bunch of gooks with pea-brained minds? You know, you’re like a little schoolgirl. A little schoolgirl without the balls to protect his own brothers. Better yet, you’re one of those sympathizers who came over here and are brainwashed. Going to go home and protest the war. Next thing you know we’ll have a bullet in our backs thanks to you.”

  “Then shoot me.” Williams’s skin crawled with illness. His aim wiggled a little bit, zeroing in on Simmons’s wicked grin. He would die within the next day, but if he died today, at least he would go with an ounce of dignity left.

  “No. You know what? Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.” Simmons circled around Williams, taunting him. “You call us animals. We’ll be animals.”

  “Guys, come on,” Donovan pleaded as he finished wrapping his hand. “Let’s take a breather. I mean, they’re still out there. More of them will come. Ain’t no use turning our guns against each other. We’ll all end up dead.”

  “Ain’t no good old days left, Donnie, not since Chris turned into a commie. That’s why we have to do it this way. Solve our problems like brothers. Just like Chris said.” Simmons secured the gun into the back of his waist. “What say we play a little game?”

  “I’m in no mood to play games.” Williams breathed in hard. He refused to show weakness.

  The fight would be over in an instant. But before it could even start, a low growl rolled from the opposite bank of the river. It was still there.

  “You hear that?” Simmons’s smile grew wider as he licked his lips again. “That’s the jungle approving. Wants to taste a little more blood. So for the sake of our boys, let’s say we get this over with. Sacrifice one of our own.”

  Williams looked to the river. The beast’s call vibrated deep in his abdomen and up his spine. There was anger to it—a deep-down hatred for their company. They just killed another of her children. He didn’t know how, but Williams knew it wanted revenge.

  “Fine. Don’t talk. Easier that way.” Simmons unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his barrel chest. The bloodsucking gnats immediately detected the fresh human skin. He dipped his legs slightly and whipped out his knife. “If you want to side with the commies, well, I want to fight a commie like they fight us. Gonna add me another trophy to my collection.”

  The growl, more guttural, almost demonic, resounded again. Water rippled along river’s surface outwards from the bank. The oranges and reds faded to deeper tones above them. Then Williams saw them: two golden orbs pulsating within the green shade, fixed on their position. The beast finally came for them.

  “Jesus, what…what is that?” Harris said.

  “The jungle,” Simmons said with a sardonic grin.

  “We…we should go,” Harris begged.

  “Yeah, cut it out,” Donovan joined Harris, clutching his hand. “I don’t feel so good about this.”

  “Shut up. We end this first.” Simmons smiled again, completely ignorant to the tiger’s presence as he juggled the knife between both hands. He would much rather sacrifice them all.

  “Fine then.” Williams holstered his sidearm but did not reach for his knife. “No knives, just bare fists.”

  “A pleasure.” Simmons’s eyes flared, the animal inside emerging.

  With a loud crack, Garcia lurched from the side and jammed the butt of his rifle into the base of Simmons’s neck. The Texan’s maddened gaze lolled back behind his eyelids. His hip shuddered. His knees buckled. Garcia slammed the rifle into Simmons neck again, this time sending the Texan down beside the man he’d just killed.

  “Garcia,” Williams said.

  Garcia dropped the rifle then collapsed
backwards right into Jackson’s arms.

  “Damn, boy,” Jackson said. “Like Jesus rising from the dead to save us all.”

  “Yeah, to save us all.” Garcia closed his eyes and exhaled.

  “Holy shit. You killed him.” Harris jumped up.

  “No, he didn’t kill him,” William said, greens fading to black and red. Whether by willpower or playing possum, Garcia had saved what little hope the troop had to survive. “Jackson, tie him up. That is, unless anybody else has a problem.” Williams deliberately focused on Donovan and Harris. Neither made a move to disagree, still stunned by Garcia’s heroics. “It’s settled then. We move with the river. Wherever it takes us is where we’ll end up. Got it?”

  The group reluctantly nodded.

  “How’s your hand, Donovan?” Williams asked, focusing on the position of the tiger’s eyes, but just like before it retreated back into its habitat, granting some sort of sick reprieve for their ultimate sentence.

  “Burns a little. Bit pretty deep. I’ll live, though.” Donovan sat down. There was uneasiness in his answer.

  “Keep it clean as best you can. Last thing we need is for you to fall out on us.” Williams nodded. “Jackson, how’s he doing?”

  Garcia choked for air, but did not wake, clinging to life with every ounce of strength he could muster. Garcia wanted to save people just like he saved them from Simmons. He had fulfilled the mission he came to see through in Vietnam. Williams promised he would do everything possible to repay the debt, feeling guilty knowing that, in the end, he wouldn’t have the opportunity.

  “He’s still breathing.” Jackson inspected Garcia.

  “What about you, Harris? You sure you’re on board? I know you have this little love thing going on with Simmons,” Williams asked.

  Harris nodded then turned away. The kid obviously felt abandoned.

  “Glad to hear we’re all in agreement. No more of this nonsense.” Williams knelt once more, removing the weight of his helmet. The jungle breathed once more with the wind, massaging his sweat-soaked hair. The calmness wouldn’t last.

  “Jackson, if you don’t mind, please guard our friend Simmons. Donovan, you and Harris can help Garcia.” Williams retrieved his walking stick.

  “And how are we supposed to do that? The both of us combined aren’t as strong as Jackson,” Harris questioned.

  “Sling him over your shoulders. It won’t be easy, but it is something we need to do. Nobody is left to die.”

  “But he was strong enough to take down Simmons. You sure he ain’t faking?” Harris protested in his own way.

  “No. And no, I don’t know how to explain what he did.”

  “What do you want to do with him, Williams?” Donovan looked across their former ward.

  Williams took a moment to look at the VC’s distorted corpse. A side of him—that side he dare not touch—smiled, but he wouldn’t be an animal, not like Simmons. “He killed Jones. He killed Anuska. Just because we killed him doesn’t mean we have to honor the son of a bitch. Leave him.”

  As they set off, abandoning the scorched earth, Williams looked back over his shoulder at the beast that tracked their movements since the crash. Its golden eyes undulated in the cloak of darkness over the fallen VC’s body. It had come to reclaim its native child.

  Somewhere, deep down within him, he knew the jungle prepared to silence their efforts. They had murdered the VC, the only one who knew the way out. To make matters worse, they had a loose cannon among their ranks. Simmons’s actions proved what Williams feared all along. But Williams wouldn’t abandon him. For him to be saved, he needed to save them all.

  TWENTY FOUR

  With little food to fuel his body, Harris collapsed twice, once falling atop a hidden anthill where he was swarmed with the red mutant bugs within seconds. The others watched with little emotion—almost zombielike—as he smacked the fire ants against his shin and calves. Even the stalwart of the group, Donovan, seemed distant, mumbling something about being late for class.

  They discovered a small clearing where two downed trees would provide temporary shelter. Williams hugged his arms tight against his body in an effort to preserve what heat he could. The rest of them spread out next to the tree’s empty husk. Jackson took point, stringing their tarp over the prehistoric tree’s branches. The temporary roof provided little warmth, but the psychological effect of a shelter was better than nothing.

  Williams knew another night march would be next to impossible. The wildlife felt closer, unafraid of the visitors, and the river churned with a little more fervor. There would be no fire tonight, just the cold reality of damp clothes, a burning crotch, and the stale smell of sweat and infection. Williams looked to the trail they forged, wondering if the tiger would make its final appearance or if the little girl’s specter might haunt them during the Vietnam night.

  “Why are you so concerned with it all, Chris? I couldn’t stand to be in the same jungle as that bastard, let alone help him.” Donovan asked. Williams could barely make out his facial features.

  “Because”—Williams loosened his boot, allowing his swollen foot to breathe a little. The inflammation had made it to his ankles—“we didn’t come here to be like them.” Williams put his hand on Garcia’s chest. The medic’s throat gurgled with each labored exhale. “Some of us still believe in a higher cause.”

  “Bullshit. The gook deserved to be shot. Don’t go and try and fool us with all your high and mighty bullshit.” The devil in Simmons spoke through his eyes, which burned red hot in the dusk. Williams made sure to bind Simmons’s hands to the tree. “You can join him for all I care, you turncoat.”

  “Shut up, fool,” Jackson said. “Nobody wants to hear your cracker opinion except for Harris, and Harris knows better now. Ain’t that right, boy?”

  “Yeah. Well, yeah,” Harris stuttered.

  “What you gonna do when you pass out tonight, Williams? You know you’re all too damn tired to take turns,” Simmons said. “I’m going to make it out of here somehow, and when I do—”

  “You aren’t going to do a damn thing,” Williams narrowed his eyes at the Texan. If only the enormous jackass was sapped of energy like them. “You’re going to sit there and keep that trap of yours shut, or I’ll string your ass to a tree and let the jungle take you.”

  “Now we talk a big game when my arms are tried behind my back. Where were those cojones all along? You would let them take me like that? Let’s just wait and see how your boys handle three o’clock in the morning. Look at them, exhausted, tired, all because of you. I’m capable of much more than you realize.”

  “You can be capable all you want. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Watch me.”

  “Try me.” Williams massaged his foot in an attempt to encourage blood flow.

  “So that’s how it is. You going to try and save me, too?” Simmons laughed.

  “I do what I have to do.”

  “Well then, how do you propose you’re going to save us? We’re in the middle of nowhere with no plan. ‘Hug the river. Hug the river.’ You say it like it’s going to lead us to the promised land. Some pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Hell, next thing you’ll want us to do is swim in there again. You see where that got us. Ain’t that right, Donnie?”

  “I got nothing.” Donovan said, shying away from the tension.

  “A college boy like you can’t figure out a simple equation? First you take one failed leader who got us involved in this mess. Add in your decision to follow him out on a mindless excursion. What do you get? Nothing.” Simmons bellowed out another, more sinister laugh. It was if he wanted them to fail. “No wonder you dropped out.”

  “Your dumb ass shot the one person who knew the way out of here. Not only that, but I guarantee Elvis and his friends are up in those trees waiting to pounce. Way I see it, you’re the one who decided to unload an arsenal back there. Now all of southern Vietnam knows where we’re at,” Jackson added.

  Williams let Jackson
and Simmons’s duel drone out in the background. It was there, watching the group disintegrate.

  What are you waiting for? Williams thought, keeping his Colt close.

  “What’s the status of ammo? How many supplies?” Williams asked, disrupting the argument.

  “Well…” Harris clicked on the flashlight and wrestled with McEvoy’s rucksack. The light shone upwards, making the teenager appear like a ghost. His eager eyes were searching for something that Williams knew was not there. “I know I looked before. I know what I saw. We’re out.”

  “What did you find in there?”

  “Nothing. Just his canteen, a few comics, some rope,” Harris said.

  “And pictures,” Williams said. “Right?”

  “Pictures? Well yeah, we all have taken some pictures. They’re right there.” The kid hesitated.

  “How about you look at them.” He might as well get it out in the open.

  “I…I…” Harris stammered as he revealed the waterlogged photos.

  “Tell me about them, the ones with McEvoy and the girl from the village. And no bullshit. Who took them?”

  Harris squirmed, blinking uncontrollably.

  “Oh, them damn things. We still have them? Figured he would have tossed them.” Simmons laughed yet again, throwing his head up the sky like a wolf ready to howl. “Funny as hell. Let me tell you, I didn’t know that skinny little bastard had it in him. Look at the expression on that savage’s face. Nothing like bringing a girl into the real world the right way.”

  “You know about this?” Williams asked.

  “Who do you think put him up to it? We can’t all be Boy Scouts.”

  “When did it happen?” Williams remained calm and turned towards Jackson.

  “When did what happen?” Jackson followed Williams’s comment. Williams could tell Jackson was sincere in his ignorance.

  “About a week, maybe two weeks ago. Maybe a month. Who knows.” Simmons tried to catch a glimpse of the pictures. “McEvoy was all about it. I think we popped his cherry. Boy ain’t ever visited the Bermuda Triangle in his life.”