Going Feet First Ch. 05

Her muscles stopped convulsing then, and she collapsed right onto the bed with a trickle of her womanly nectar still running over her fingers and down into her bedding. Smiling dumbly, the Tree Elf withdrew her hand from between her thighs and brought it to her face. There she stared at the succus glistening off her fingers before breathing out her satisfaction.

Her desire sated, she wiped her hand off on the side of the bed and rolled over. With the covers pulled up around her long, pointed ears, she only needed to imagine Galen wrapping his arms around her, to imagine him bringing her body close against his as he kissed her good night, in order to, at long last, coax herself to sleep. A wonderful sleep, where she would wish to dream of being beside him once again with her head in his arms and the sound of his heart beating in her ear.

As she descended to her own realm, a blue light fluttered to her windowsill. A Nightwatcher carefully observed her through the glass.

...............

The opening guitar rift of a rock-n-roll song played out from a loudspeaker custom fitted to the side of a UH-1D "Huey" as it cruised fast and low over the jungle. Ahead of it were four more helicopters, all fully loaded with squads of battle-ready troops and additional gunships at both the front and at the rear of the formation.

Tapping his foot against the floor of the helicopter with the loud speaker, a Marine wearing a dirtied combat uniform with torn-off sleeves started strumming the safety of an AK-47. The fingers of his right hand touched down in time with the music on the weapon's forward hand guards in the places where the frets would be on a real guitar.

Not too long before I get to play mine again, he thought, the hint of a grin creeping onto his grizzled face. Just three more weeks of this Hell.

Under the brim of his jungle hat, his deep blue eyes tiredly scanned over the treetops whizzing right past his feet, his position on the right side-seat of the helicopter giving him an unblocked view of the jungle. After undergoing a long patrol through that God-forsaken sea of trees, he still felt as though the leaves themselves were growing eyes to watch his every step. Being up in a helicopter did nothing to calm his heightened awareness, though it did help him feel at ease up until the time he had to hit the ground again.

He adjusted the shoulder strap to the AK-47 bandolier strung across his torso, shifting the loaded magazine pockets to a comfortable position over his dirt and blood-stained equipment. He lacked a rucksack on his back and his issued M-16 with what ammo he had left were all gone, but the Marine could not find a reason to care. His issued gear, or what was left of it, was out there somewhere. All rendered inoperable and rigged with high explosives for some poor bastard to find.

Bits of mud fell off the black stubble growing on his cheeks when he opened his mouth to vocalize the music as it came to a solo. After nearly three weeks of having nothing but the sounds of nature and gun fire fill his ears, it was nice to have a change of audio. He did his best to ignore the fact that this was the second time he had heard the tune in the past hour, and that he only had the next thirty seconds to enjoy it before they were dropped into the two-way gun range rattling off in the distance.

"You seriously think you can get that home, Flak?"

The Marine with the AK still strummed the safety lever of the rifle as he nodded and answered, "Oh yeah."

Curious looks passed around by the eight other Marines on the chopper, one of them smiling before asking, "Whose dick you sucking to get it stateside?"

His thumb jerking downward to set the AK into the full-auto position, Flak looked to the soldier and with a dead serious face responded, "It's not me on my knees. I sweet-talked your mother into fucking some Army brass. Took her a few tries, but it worked when she learned to swallow."

Laughter erupted around the chopper cabin save for the one Marine who now glared at Flak with a searing scowl.

After having a good chuckle himself, Flak looked to the man. "Chill the fuck out, I'll tell you who to talk to back at base if you want to bring back that revolver you nabbed. Right after your sister stops sucking him off."

"Motherfucker!"

"Calm your shit, Marines!" the lieutenant yelled out from his seat behind the pilots. "We're coming up to the drop zone! Charlie is trying to get at a new outpost three clicks south of here and the Army boys need help keeping them back! The LZ is hot so rack it and be ready to roll!"

Even with the one Marine still grumbling and casting a nasty glare at Flak, the men in the chopper checked the magazines in their rifles and pulled the charging handles. The helicopters then broke formation and spread out over a clearing in the jungle. The field of grass over which they hovered was dimpled by craters and well-fortified with dozens of foxholes, sandbag emplacements, and trees that were toppled for cover.

Dozens of American troops were scattered across the area, returning fire on the Vietnamese forces shooting at them from the northern treeline. In the middle of the field, a pair of armored personnel carriers, both with damaged tracks and drive-wheels, were parked among the soldiers. The top gunners of the M113 APCs freely engaged the Vietnamese while their vehicles provided cover for the medics trying to care for their wounded.

On the side-gunner positions of one escorting gunship, the men on the mounted M60 machine guns opened up on targets on the ground while ones of the other gunships unloaded its missiles into the treeline. Firestorms of firepower rained down over the field when the second gunship followed up on the first with its fixed machine guns. For a real moment afterward, the incoming fire from the treeline paused.

At that moment Flak looked to the pintle mounted M60 in front of him, considering the idea of getting behind it and sending his own wall of lead down range. But the army lad who had been standing behind the gun when the Huey came to pick him up learned the hard way that the exposure of the position and the fire it would attract wasn't outweighed by the volume it of fire it could produce. Especially from a static position.

Wiping a bit of the kid's dried blood off his face, Flak was content to keep his distance from the MG.

The choppers carrying the reinforcement Marines came in low to the ground, the grass below them pushed flat by the downward draft of the rotors. When the Huey's landing skids were just a dozen feet off the ground, the Marine passengers rose from their seats and prepared to disembark. Without so much as a quiver of fear for the imminent firefight, Flak readied his AK and rose from his seat, grabbing onto the top of the door frame and turning to the men behind him.

"Come on, you pussies! Let's kill these Godless fucker-"

Blood burst out the back-right side of his ribcage, throwing him back into his seat.

"FLAK!" one of the other Marines shouted as the soldier slumped in his seat clutching the bullet holes in his chest.

When a bullet tore through his windshield, narrowly missing his head, the pilot turned to his passengers and snapped, "We'll CASEVAC him outta here! Rest of you get out now!"

"MOVE IT, MARINES! Corpsman, stay behind and help Flak!" the lieutenant ordered, leading the way off as the helicopter came to a hover less than waist height above the ground.

Though hesitant at first, the soldiers gritted their teeth and jumped out the side of the chopper and hit the ground running into positions. Almost immediately, several men came running out from the APCs toward the helicopter. With them they carried wounded on stretchers, holding IV lines up and trying to keep their heads down while they rushed to fill the Huey's vacancies.

Fatigue plagued Flak's senses as he cussed under his weak breath. The medic had come to his side but he ducked down when a bullet ricocheted off the roof. Knuckles turning white, the Marine unsteadily lifted his rifle and drew a bead on the muzzle flashes in the tree line. He could just make out a helmet outline between a bush and a tree, and when the medic got up to inspect the exit wounds on his back, he lined the target up with his sights.

"Payback... bitch," he growled as he squeezed the trigger.

His rifle kicked as the bullet cleared the muzzle, homing in on its target. With a glorious spray, that head snapped back, and the fire coming from that position ceased.

After nervously checking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the enemy line, the medic refocused on the now smiling Flak and set to work. He pushed the Marine's captured weapon aside and felt around on his chest and back for the damage done. Finding the wounds with his fingers and provoking a nasty slur of swears from his patient, he leaned the soldier forward to fumble with his gear.

"Two bullets, Flak! Both went through!" the medic yelled as he pulled off the shoulder straps of Flak's kit. With the deftness of a thief he had the Marine stripped down to his bare chest and was already prepping everything he needed to close Flak's wounds.

On the other side of the chopper, a pair of soldiers hoisted a stretcher into the cabin of the Huey, sliding their wounded brother aboard and preparing to climb in themselves. Just as the next stretcher was being loaded however, someone yelled out a word that made everyone's hearts race.

"MORTAR!"

Even with the roar of the helicopter's turbine engine and the chopping sound of its rotors, Flak could hear the whistle of the explosives arcing high above their heads. He sucked in a hard breath as the medic pulled on the knots of the bandage wound around his chest, but immediately sighed as he felt the needle of a morphine syrette puncture his arm. The relief flowed rapidly through his veins, and he soon found himself without a fuck to give as the first mortar shell hit not thirty feet from the helicopter.

"Fuck this!" the co-pilot yelled, turning to the men who had just climbed into the chopper. "Tell the rest that we gotta buzz off!"

Nodding in confirmation, the soldiers in the back of the cabin turned to the next men in line to come aboard crossed their arms in a "X" shape and waved them off. When the immediate area was clear the helicopter tilted forward as the turbine picked up in RPMs, the craft rising up to get clear of the combat zone.

"The fuck is that?!"

Following the corpsman's gaze, Flak looked to the treeline to see a trio of NVA soldiers running forward; a long, tubular device in each of their hands. As the Marine pondered at this possible weapon's purpose, a flame shot out from behind them and a rocket came sailing directly at their chopper.

"HOLY FUCK!" the medic yelled, hitting the deck.

"HOLD ON!" the pilot ordered as he mashed a pedal down to turn the Huey to the right.

The rocket sailed right between the Huey's open doors and right over backs of the two soldiers that were using their bodies to shield their brother on the stretcher. When he saw the rocket arc down and slam harmlessly into a bare patch of ground, the pilot continued his ascent and chuckled a bit while he let the air out of his lungs and relaxed his tense fingers.

Coughing up a bit of blood, Flak grinned at his brush with death and looked down to the battlefield below. Smoke plumed out of the engines of a Helicopter as it belly-flopped onto the ground behind the American line. Within moments of crashing, the pilots bailed out along with the men that had been aboard, all of them scattering like rats for cover. And just as they all cleared the area around the downed bird, another rocket sailed right into the fuel tank.

When the fireball erupted and sent bits of metal every which-way, an inspired volley of gunfire erupted from the treeline. A move Flak figured to be the Vietnamese getting cocky. But a distant roar caught the Marine's ear and pulled his focus toward a welcome sight. One that had him on the verge of chuckling.

Two jets came in fast from the clouds above with their engines roaring as they throttled back and attempted to slow. With what accuracy they could manage at their speed, the planes dove down toward the trees before releasing their payload. The second their ordinance cleared their mounts was the second the jets throttled back up and pulled off.

Enormous balls of fire flared up over the jungle canopy as the bombs hit their mark. Chunks of wood and dirt high flew into the air over the treetops while pieces of metal and equipment went sailing out of the treeline toward the American line. At the successful delivery of air support, the troops on the ground gave a cheer that was barely audible for Flak as more distance was put between his chopper and the battlefield.

When the smoke cleared a minute later, the only thing that was left of the Vietnamese line was four smoking craters.

Despite that air strike, however, Flak just gritted his teeth and kept eyes on the scene as it shrunk away. He knew that fly-by bombing was merely a setback for the Vietnamese and momentary reprieve for the boys still on the ground. In his mind he counted down the seconds before the next assault wave came rushing out from those trees to retry their assault.

Sitting back and relaxing in his seat, forcing each breath out from his burning lungs, Flak listened to the music still playing over the Huey's loudspeaker. The tune made his toe tap his boot, and soon he strummed his AK-47 again.

Get me the fuck out of this country, he thought, closing his eyes and listening to the music.

"Hey, Pilot, what's that there? That the outpost they're building?"

Reopening his eyes, Flak looked to the spot on the ground where the corpsman pointed, spotting a freshly cleared patch of jungle still being bulldozed by several tanks equipped with dirt-plows. In the middle of the new clearing, men were setting up razor wire fences and fortifications around several, massive tents large enough to house two or three tanks each.

Jeeps, trucks, and bulldozers made rounds in the soft dirt to flatten out paths while trucks flowed in to offload troops and supplies. More tents were put up, trenches dug out, artillery pieces and AA guns set in place. At the sight of cement trucks, backhoes, and paving machines, Flak thought they were preparing to build an airstrip or helicopter pad.

"I believe so," the pilot answered. "A C-130 disappeared in this sector a few days back; those guys started setting up shop there before the area was even cleared."

"We were tryin' to track that plane down before we got called in to assist with that shit-storm on the ground back there," Flak added, though he was unsure if anyone heard him with his raspy voice.

"Place looks more like a new base than an outpost, fuck. Did they make sure they completely secured the area since they set up?" the medic asked.

Right as the question left the corpsman's mouth, a jet of fire flared on the ground. Another rocket sailing right for the helicopter.

"You fucking Jinx," Flak grumbled.

"JESUS CHRIST!" the pilot snapped, banking hard left.

Keeping a solid grip on the seat harness and his AK, Flak watched as the rocket spiraled toward him, its smoke trail arcing across the sky. He closed his eyes and let out a breath, waiting for the impact.

A flash of light made him open his eyes again to witness a bolt of lightning arc in sideways from... somewhere, and decide to carve its path through the rocket. From the resulting explosion, several more bolts arced out and traced through the sky. Five of which struck the helicopter.

At first there was a blinding light. Flak's ears rung with high pitch tone and his skull pulsed with pain like he'd been struck upside the head with a rock. The entire area around his chest wounds tingled as though the muscle was hit with pins and needles.

When the light dimmed and he could see once again, Flak found himself short of breath and getting pulled out his seat. His arms snapped like whips to renew his grip onto his harness before he could be thrown out the door of the helicopter now spiraling to the ground. In the front the pilot screamed and fought with the controls, reefing on the stick and mashing a foot into one of the pedals at his feet. Beside him the co-pilot kept flipping several switches while yelling "mayday" into his headset.

Something fired off like a gunshot, the engine suddenly giving a low whirr and picking up speed. Within seconds came another shot, and right then Flak figured exactly where it had come from: the engine. It had died, but was starting up again. Backfiring, but starting.

For a moment, it felt as though the bird began to regain its lift and pull out of the spin. With the G-force low enough for him to finally be able to bring himself back aboard, Flak fell into his seat and strapped in. His teeth and the magazines in his bandoleer were rattling from the chopper vibrations. The landing skids slapped against the tops of the trees and snapped hundreds of branches to leave a long, traceable scar in the forest canopy. When he took glance to the front, he saw the pilot give another pull on the stick, trying his damnedest to save the bird.

The helicopter started to pull up a bit higher and level out, its tail rising up above the tops of the trees. Only then did the skids snag on a tree trunk and send the Huey flipping onto its side. Flak cussed under his breath as he looked up to the heavens above while the bird he rode dove straight into the ground.

..........

Behind the black lenses of a pair of aviators was a narrowing pair of eyes focusing on the spot where a helicopter had been just seconds before. Stomping a boot down on the butt of a cigarette, the man ran a hand over his smooth head to wipe away the sweat. In bold, capital letters, the name "REED" had been stitched above the left breast pocket of his combat fatigues, the same pocket he fished into to dig out another smoke.

All around him men were running all over, yelling, barking orders, grabbing their rifles. All of them moving toward the gunfire that erupted outside the perimeter of the camp. A tank rolled past him and a trio of helicopters flew by overhead but he stood in place still staring at where that Huey had disappeared.

"Did that just happen?" he asked another man beside him.

"Yeah. It was there and now it's... gone."

"Fuck," Reed swore as he put the fresh cigarette in his mouth and struck his lighter. "Get Major Linton on the line and report in."

He brought the flame to the tip and sucked in through the filter to flare up the lit tobacco before he turned to the lower rank. "Tell him to halt air-traffic in this sector and to secure the Goddamn area while I talk to the professors. Considering we just lost another bird, one of them better have gotten a reading on one of them fancy, fucking, machines."

.........

The splash of flowing water down the river High filled the usual quiet of Atzla. Somewhere nearby a group of birds sang the sun away from its peak in the sky whilst a gentle breeze brought a gentle sway to the treetops. A squirrel scrambled up one tree and bees hovered around a newly forming hive in another. All there was to disturb this peaceful existence of nature was the crackle of leaves crunching under Farok's foot as he hiked through the forest.

Juices dripped from his chin when he bit off a piece of his freshly cooked bird. The warmth of the fire-roast did well to settle the grumbling within his belly, if not the chills running up his back. Beyond the understanding of the Neko was what he could only describe as a "buzz" in the air that had his skin crawling under his fur. Had hunger not been grumbling his stomach, he would have had his hands ready to pull his sword in an instant. But he had been walking since the previous night with only a handful of catnaps and no stops for meals since.