THERE BE DRAGONS

by Peter Hallett

  “Yeah,” answered Cage.

  “Sure can, Sarge,” said Teacher.

  “Diaz?” asked Stephens.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “And me?” asked Buttons.

  “The hut. It will house their radio. Kill it. Kill anyone in the hut too.”

  Buttons nodded.

  “The signal to make a break for it, and to meet by Jackson’s position is … a massive explosion,” said Stephens. “When the bunker towards the rear of the base blows, you run.”

  “Also, ” began Moore, “keep away from any other buildings when the bunker goes up. They’ll start to detonate at intervals.”

  “This is gonna be fun,” said Teacher.

  “So, killing men in their sleep is fun?” asked Diaz.

  “It beats working at a regular job,” answered Teacher.

  “What are you gonna to do when this war is over, Teacher?” said Diaz.

  “I hope it never ends,” he smiled.

  “Stephens, here.” Moore passed the bow to Stephens.

  The sergeant held it up to the moonlight that crept in through the tops of the trees. He pulled the string back a few times to test the force he’d need to apply.

  Moore handed him back the quiver. It contained all the arrows, now at full length. Stephens fastened it to his leg.

  “Okay, Jackson, get moving. We’ll give you a minute, then we’ll head out,” ordered Stephens.

  “See you all soon,” said Jackson, as he headed off through the trees and towards a dirt trail that led to the entrance.

  “See you soon, Jackson,” Buttons said as the private disappeared into the shadows.

  “So, now that Cook and the Doc are dead,” began Teacher, “you making a move on Jackson?”

  “What the hell is that suppose to mean?” said Buttons.

  “You know what it means. I always thought you was a fag.”

  “Teacher, shut your mouth,” Stephens said through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, Sarge.”

  “Make sure you kill the guys silently in the barracks, Teacher. Emphasis on silently,” added Stephens.

  “I will.”

  “You got a bayonet on you?” asked Stephens.

  “Yeah, Sarge,” answered Teacher.

  “What about you three?”

  “Yeah,” said Cage.

  Buttons nodded.

  “And you, Diaz?”

  “Yeah, I got one.”

  “You’re not gonna go soft on me, are you, Private?” Stephens asked.

  “Have I ever let you down in a battle, Sergeant?” said Diaz.

  “No. No, you haven’t. But this is different. Like you said to Teacher, you’ll be killing people who are sleeping.”

  “You don’t need to worry, Stephens. I can do it. I won’t enjoy it, like this idiot will,” he pointed at Teacher, who smiled, “but I’ll get the job done.”

  “Good man.” Stephens placed an arrow on the bow but kept the string slack. “Okay, lock and load. Let’s move.”

  • • • • •

  They headed back through the trees, crawled through the undergrowth in a slivery line of men, Stephens at the head, until they came to the barbed wire secured by the posts.

  He placed the bow and arrow on the ground, adjusted the CAR-15 on his back so it wouldn’t get in his way and removed his knife from his boot. He used the saw-edge on the back of the blade to cut through the wire.

  He picked up his bow and arrow and slipped through the opening.

  He crawled to the next row of barbed wire, pushed his bow and arrow through the loop of the circular tangle and was able to squeeze himself through. He was careful to not get snagged on the barbs.

  Stephens got up to a knee and looked behind himself to see Moore crawling through the loop, behind him he could see Diaz pushing through the barbed wire he had just cut away by the post.

  Stephens held the bow in his left hand and drew the string and arrow back with his right. He took aim at the first guard tower.

  The guard tower sat to his right and an NVA soldier was leant against a wooden support with a cigarette in his mouth.

  Stephens saw the red grow in intensity as the NVA inhaled. He narrowed his eyes and let go of the string. The arrow was silent and fast.

  It pieced the soldier through the cheek in an upward angle and extruded through an eye socket, the eyeball stuck to the arrow like a marshmallow on the end of a stick. The NVA stumbled slightly before his back rested on the structure. He slid down to the floor of the tower and out of view.

  Moore was now knelt by Stephens. Diaz was pushing through the loop and Cage was crawling through the hole that had been cut.

  Stephens removed another arrow from his quiver. He placed it in position on his bow and turned to his left.

  The guard in this tower had his back to the jungle. He coughed and it echoed around the ravine. An arrow struck him in his spine. Blood started to round the arrow’s entrance and his body fell forward onto the tower’s floor. The wood creaked.

  Stephens heard two guards speaking in Vietnamese. He quickly turned and saw Diaz was by his side now and Cage was pushing through the loop. Stephens raised his hand and signaled him to stop.

  Cage turned behind and signaled for Teacher to stop by the post.

  Stephens looked towards the sound of conversation and saw two guards exit the sentry box by the wood gate at the entrance of the base. He removed two arrows from his quiver, turned his bow sideways, fixed both arrows in place, and fired.

  Both arrows hit their targets. Each speared a guard in the chest. Both were taken off their feet, air expelled from their mouths, then they hit the dirt. AKs fell from them and clattered.

  Stephens removed another arrow, fixed it in place, and turned to the last guard tower. It was the farthest tower away from him. He saw the guard reach for the spotlight.

  The light flicked on.

  Stephens readjusted his aim. The arrow shot and hit the spotlight. It shattered. Stephens fired again.

  As the NVA raised his rifle to his shoulder, the arrow struck his helmet. It went right through and stabbed into his head. The guard fell from the tower and into barbed wire at its base.

  They all sat motionless and listened for anyone coming to check on the noise.

  No one came.

  Stephens signaled for the men that still struggled with the barbed wire to keep moving. He turned to Diaz and whispered. “Move the men from the gate. Hide their bodies and then follow on to the barracks.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” Diaz kept low and in shadows as he headed towards the dead NVA guards.

  They had all made it through the barbed wire when Diaz returned to the team.

  They duck-walked quickly and quietly to the back of one of the barracks. They took a pause, all with their backs rested on the wood. They breathed slow and shallow. Stephens pointed to Cage and then to the building.

  Cage moved past Moore and Stephens to the corner that led to the side of the barracks. He rounded it and Stephens peered around after him.

  Cage ducked low under slits that were used as windows. They had thatched covers propped open by bamboo sticks. He stopped at the corner that led to the front of the building. He looked to the left and then to the right. He then ducked back into the shadows and the cover of the barrack’s walls.

  He slung his Blooper with his M-16 over his shoulder and removed his bayonet from his webbing. Cage rounded that corner to the front of the hut.

  Stephens started to move towards the next building but a guard appeared. The guard was crossing the alley Cage had crept down and heading towards the barracks the corporal had entered.

  Stephens fixed an arrow in place and fired.

  The black spike went through the neck of the NVA. The soldier held at the black projectile as blood flowed over the arrow at its entrance and exit. The NVA stumbled to a knee. He looked down the alley and saw Stephens. He raised his AK, his arm shaking

  Another arrow struck
him.

  This one had hit near his collarbone. His body crumbled into the dirt. His leg twitched twice, then he was dead.

  Stephens turned back to the men, he handed the bow to Moore and signaled for them to stay put.

  He took the corner, ran forward, keeping low under the windows.

  He got to the corner Cage had negotiated. He too looked left then right. He saw nothing. He then

  grabbed ahold of the dead body by the webbing, at his shoulders.He dragged the dead man back towards his team’s position. The boots of the NVA left tracks in the soil.

  He dropped the body near Teacher and the farm boy pushed it under the barracks.

  Stephens rounded the corner once more. He seized the AK-47 the guard had carried and as he moved back below the windows, he used his free hand to cover up the tracks left by the dead enemy’s boots, scattering dust over them.

  He handed the AK to Teacher when he was back in cover. Teacher placed it with the dead body. Stephens took the bow from Moore and they moved onto the rear of the next barracks.

  They stopped.

  Stephens gave Diaz the go ahead.

  The private moved in much the same fashion Cage had. Once he had removed his bayonet and had entered the building, they moved on to the rear of the next barracks.

  Teacher duck-walked under the windows. A cigarette butt flew from the slit. Teacher stopped under the opening, he looked up, then behind him to Stephens.

  Stephens could hear Vietnamese spoke at a low hum. He took a second to think and to give the man in the barracks time to get back in bed. He waved Teacher back to his position.

  Teacher moved in slow, noiseless steps back to the rear of the building.

  Stephens motioned Buttons forward. Both of them looked around the barrack’s corner into the

  base. Stephens directed Buttons’s gaze towards the hut then tapped him on his shoulder and Buttons dashed forward.

  They heard the sound of NVA boots.

  Buttons rushed to some cover in the darkness, behind a well. He positioned himself with his back to the structure and held his legs into his body.

  Stephens moved back into the cover of the building.

  The sound grew louder.

  Stephens handed the bow to Moore and removed his knife.

  Teacher removed his bayonet.

  The noise of footsteps stopped. They could hear foreign voices.

  Stephens looked around the edge of the building to see two Russians standing with their backs to his position. To the left of them, he could see Buttons camouflaged by the dark. The wall of the well obscured the Russians’ view of him.

  Stephens pointed to Moore, then to the ground. Moore nodded and Stephens waved Teacher to follow him.

  They duck-walked from the back of the barracks and under the window the cigarette had been thrown from. They neared the two talking Russians. Got to within arm’s length, and stopped. Stephens behind the man on the right; Teacher behind the man to the left.

  The sergeant mouthed, “Three, two, one.”

  Both Stephens and Teacher stood. They each placed a hand over a Russian’s mouth and stabbed him in the base of the spine. The enemy soldiers struggled. Their legs kicked, then stopped; their bodies had gone limp.

  Stephens could feel sticky liquid run over his clenched fist, the blood dripping from knuckle to knuckle.

  He and Teacher took ahold of their victims under their armpits and started to drag them into cover. As they passed the barracks windows, the NVA smoker leaned out to toss another cigarette to the ground outside. His eyes went wide at the sight he saw.

  Stephens dropped the dead Russian, jumped upwards and grabbed the NVA by his hair. He stabbed his knife into his throat. Blood sprayed like a sprinkler. Stephens pulled the man from the window and out into the night. The NVA’s leg hit one of the bamboo poles that held open the thatched cover.

  Teacher dropped his Russian. He was able to catch the cover just an inch away from it hitting the wood and waking up anyone else in the barracks.

  Stephens had taken the dead NVA’s weight as he fell out the window. No sound had been made. The body now lay on the ground.

  Teacher dragged the two Russians by the scruffs of their necks and laid them behind the building.

  As Stephens moved the NVA out of sight, Teacher cleared the tracks in the dirt.

  Once they were all back in cover with Moore, Stephens looked over to the well. Buttons was still hid. Stephens knelt, felt around in the dark and picked up and stone. He threw it at Buttons. It hit his leg.

  Buttons peered out. He nodded and started to rush from the cover towards the hut.

  Stephens pointed at Teacher, then to the barracks. Teacher nodded.

  Stephens then motioned for Moore to follow him.

  They ran from the barracks to take cover behind the well.

  They saw Buttons move into position. He was duck-walking by the side of the hut.

  They turned their attention towards the bunker built into the cliff.

  Stephens moved forward. Moore followed.

  They darted behind any cover they came across. A Jeep first, some rice urns, and jungle growth. They settled behind some oil drums, within spitting distance from the entrance to the concrete bunker.

  • • • • •

  Jacobs sat and ate bread from the tin tray that was on the desk of Dragon Master. He ate it with only his right hand. His left had been bandaged; the white of the material was dark red where his thumb used to be.

  Dragon Master sat across from him, his feet on the desk, his legs crossed, his hands behind the back of his head, his fingers interlocked, smiling into the roof of the hut.

  NVA torturer was stood behind Jacobs, holding his AK across his stomach and yawning. Cage Guard was sitting at a radio in the far left corner of the room, opposite the bed used for electrocution.

  Jacobs could hear dials get turned and buttons get pressed. The room was full of static for a moment, then Russian began to distort through speakers. Jacobs finished off the last few crumbs of bread.

  Dragon Master sat upright and pushed a tin cup of water towards him. The Russian smirked with his eyes.

  Jacobs looked at the water for a second then he drank it down in one gulp. He placed the cup back on the desk and exhaled a long, slow, and labored breath.

  Cage Guard walked to the desk and handed Dragon Master a piece of paper. Dragon Master studied it then shouted something in Russian at the bearer of the news.

  Cage Guard answered the shouts of anger that were thrown at him. He swallowed hard after his retort.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Jacobs. “Have you just got the electricity bill for this place? You will pay for useless over usage. Cranking it up for torture and torment is not quite the same as using it for a regular non-human bulb. I don’t believe in Karma, but if I did, it explains why the electricity suppliers just bit you in your red commie butts.”

  “Shut up, dog!” screamed Dragon Master.

  NVA Torturer hit Jacobs in the back of his head with the wooden butt of his Kalashnikov. Jacobs’s chin met his chest with force. Blood trickled through his hair and onto the back of his neck.

  He raised his head to look back at Dragon Master and Cage Guard. They both spoke loud and fast at each other. “Okay, so it isn’t a bill, but something has got your panties in a bunch. What is it?” asked Jacobs.

  Dragon Master sighed. “I already had a horrible ordeal planned for you tonight. But you just made it a hell of a lot worse for yourself.”

  “A horrible ordeal, sorry, an even worse than horrible ordeal, is a steep price to pay for some bread and water, but I can’t complain about the service. It really is top-class.”

  “Again!”

  Torturer did as ordered and whacked the gun into Jacobs’s head. Blood splat over the top of his skull and it speckled the tin tray on the desk. Jacobs’s head hung low and he laughed.

  “If you must know, some of my men ran into a few of your American friends, not too fa
r from here, in fact. We of course killed many yanks,” said Dragon Master.

  “Then why are you so irate, if it was such a success?” asked Jacobs.

  “Because of the location, but mainly because some of my dragons got killed.” He stopped himself. “Why am I explaining myself to you? Again!”

  Once more Jacobs was hit in the head with the butt of the gun. The blood began to wrap around his neck and some pooled in the dip by his collarbone.

  The door to the hut opened.

  Jacobs turned. Perhaps the last person he expected to see again ran inside.

  “Buttons!”

  The private carried a bayonet, which he held by the blade. He threw it and it stuck into Cage Guard’s chest. Cage Guard gasped and fell to the floor of the hut with a screech. His dying breath rattled out a husky death groan.

  Jacobs jumped to his feet. He grabbed the tray from the desk and hit NVA Torturer in the face with it. “Dinner is served.” The tray clattered to the floor.

  Jacobs seized the wrist of the hand that held the AK. While he still held the wrist with his right hand, he started to hit NVA Torturer in the face with his left elbow. “How do you like getting smacked around?”

  Torturer’s nose cracked and blood ran, two red flowing streams, over his lips and into his mouth.

  Dragon Master drew his pistol and brought it to bear at Buttons.

  The RTO ran straight towards the Russian, and before Dragon Master could pull the trigger, Buttons had snatched at the gun.

  It landed near Jacobs’s and Torturer’s feet. Their struggle kicked it away.

  Buttons threw a haymaker of a right hook.

  Dragon Master ducked and countered with a right low hook to the kidneys. “You are no solider. Look at you. You are merely a Boy Scout.”

  Buttons had gotten the wind knocked out of him.

  Dragon Master followed up with a left hook to Buttons’s jaw. “They say never hit a man who wears glasses. I say bullshit.”