Join Date: Sep 2006
Posts: 18
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And The Angels Cried (July 29th, 1968)
The young soldier wiped frantically at the beads of sweat dripping from his sandy blonde hair and into his tired, red-twinged eyes. The combination of full battle dress, mixed with the humid July air only aided in discomforting him, as his clothes clung tightly to his lean frame, and fresh fluids rolled down his face, arms, and abdomen. He lit another Marlboro and leaned back against the ivy covered wall, ever watchful of his surroundings. The job was simple, if somewhat irritating. He repeated today's task to himself, as he puffed slowly, exhaling the smoke against the blue cloudless sky.
"Stand here. When the door opens, stand at parade rest beside the Major as he steps forth. When the door closes, snap to attention, survey everything, and wait on the smoke colored limo to pull around the corner, and stop directly in front of you. When it does, get on your radio, tell master control that "10-15 is 10-19 up and away". Wait for conformation, give the required 10-14, and proceed. Walk the Major from the door to the waiting automobile. The driver will get out and open the door. Stay in step. Don't screw up. You are in Vietnam. The battle is heated. Get this man out of here, get him out of here alive. Don't screw up. Don't screw up. Don't scr..."
The door opens, and a tall figure steps out beside him. His salt and pepper hair shining as brightly as his medallions in the summer sunshine. The Major. One of the only survivors of the 173 Airborne Brigade on Operation Hump in War-zone D. November 8, 1965. 1200 VietCong commando's causing the deaths of 48 American soldiers. The average lifespan of a soldier dropped into a hot LZ is 16 minutes. The Major crawled through with a broken leg, rescuing two others. If anyone deserved his rank, it was this man.
As the door closed, he snapped to attention, and waited. The car should pull up any minute. A minute passed. Two minutes...The Major stood silently, not saying a word. The young soldier fought the urge to lose composure, as fear began overtaking him. Anything out of the ordinary, anything at all, could be considered suspicious. It could mean the difference between life and death.
The heat and the clothes, and the waiting was eating at him. He felt as if he were spinning. The sounds of a car pulling around the corner brought him back to attention. His thoughts switched between wondering what took so long, and the opening lyrics of an old song. "Would you believe me if I said i'm tired...Of this? Well here we go now, one more time."
The driver, a large black man, opened the door, and walked back to the rear of the car. He stood patiently as the young soldier said a few words into the radio, and began walking the major to the car.
The Major stopped suddenly, leaned over to the young soldier and began whispering "I don't thi..."...The door popped open, and the large black man watched as a bullet emerged from inside the auto and bounced off of the cold stone wall beside the Major.
Before the soldier or the Major could react, more bullets came their way. "Protect the Major" was the only thought in the young soldier's head, before it was blown off by an American made, semi-automatic M-14 (.223). As 23 years of one man's blood began spilling over his khaki shirt, and into the Major's eyes, the door behind the Major once again opened.
"What in the blue he..." Were the only words the man from Master Control could utter before a shot penetrated his exposed throat. The Major finally had enough time to draw his sidearm from his boot, and run around to the front of the car. Unless the black man had a gun, whoever was in the car would now have to get out, or try shooting through the windshield.
The Major, a man who had seen death, and been to the brink himself, did his best to remain focused. The young soldier hired to protect him was now resting on the pavement, his thoughts, feelings, and grey matter scattered in bits and pieces around him.
The man from master control could be heard uttering gurgling sounds as he gasped for air. He wished whomever had fired the shot would go ahead and finish the job. The man couldn't be saved. Hell, he heard the spine snap.
Just as the Major finished his observation, and began laughing to himself about how the president had the nerve to get on television and lie about the war, downplaying the situation. Such as the one he had been in on November 8, and the one he was in now.
He had not heard any more shots in a long while. Maybe he wasn't the target. That was a stupid thought, of course he was. Maybe they think he ran inside, or maybe they think they had hit him.
The Major never had time to finish his self-discussion on what his deadly attacker thought, as a bayonet pierced through his chest and embedded into the expensive low profile tires of the luxury sedan he had been cowering in front of. As the deadly pointed weapon ripped violently through his chest, the Major's breaking spirit was almost audible, nearly drowning out the sounds of his wounded organs, and snapping ribcage.
The man who may now lay claim to aiding in the demise of the Major walked over to the black man, and leaned against the car. The gun-wielding assassin threw his rifle out onto the ground, and made room for the black man, and the figure with the bayonet to climb inside.
Several minutes later, the door opened once again, and two figures emerged. One walked over to the car, got in and started it. He waved to his companion, and pulled forward, crushing the rest of the Major's remains against the immovable bed beneath him.
The man in the doorway straightened his American soldier's uniform, gave a mocking salute to the fallen figures around him, and radioed to his superiors, about the unfortunate events, the casualties involved, and how he had arrived just minutes too late....
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