Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Title: Green Hills of Hell
Part: Completed
Author: Dark Tower Gunslinger
Keywords: MMgg nc rap
Summary: In the jungles of Vietnam the Marines found their lives in
danger from the brutal NVA regulars but a small nine-year old Hmong hill
girl brought them into more danger than they could ever imagine.  Read for
the sex but read for the story too.















   Story_intro: The two working on the little girl were going about it
methodically, one stripping off her top while the other her bottoms.  Her
small brown legs were bare, the pants flung into a corner, no panties to
hide the narrow slit of her sex.  Excited laughter at the site of the young
sex lips and the man who was between her legs flung himself down apparently
at the urging of the onlookers and locked his lips on the small cuntal
mouth.  Ang Mai yelled as she felt the man's mature mouth on her sex,
apparently his rigid tongue probing apart the young lips.  Up above the
second man had freed his own erection from his pants, a slim dagger of
about six rigid inches, a minor replica of the two Marine's cocks pushing
against their jungle fatigues.  "Damn, that's hot," Martinez breathed in
Jim's ear, unable to tune out the erotic rape of the child in front of him.
"Shit yea," Jim breathed, reaching down and moving his rigid hard on to a
more comfortable position.  He wished he had enough nerve to follow the
onlookers of the rape and whack his cock off but he didn't think that was a
position a Marine officer should be caught in.  The man pushed her flat,
climbing over her small chest and pushing his stiffie against her lips. 
She turned her head away and spat up at him, the wad of spittle landing on
her small chest.  He slapped her across the face once, twice and then three
times very hard, each blow enough to bring blood to the mouth of the child
and make her head swim in pain.  As she lay there dazed she felt him
probing her mouth once again and she opened obediently, trying to avoid any
more blows and the incredible pain she felt from them.  The man on top
grunted as the small mouth gave him oral comfort, the little lips sucking
on the hard piece of flesh almost instinctively, possibly having had good
lessons during the rape of her family.  Below the second man raised his
mouth from the wet loins of the girl, dropping between her slim thighs
after pushing them apart with his wiry hands.  He fumbled briefly as the
crowd cheered him to stick it in apparently and then a sharp cry as the kid
jerked her mouth off the upright flesh root and announced the ends to her
virginity.

   ======= This story is a work of fiction.  =========



   Green Hills of Hell

   Written by Dark Tower Gunslinger



   Comments: In the jungles of Vietnam the Marines found their lives in
danger from the brutal NVA regulars but a small nine-year old Hmong hill
girl brought them into more danger than they could ever imagine.  Read for
the sex but read for the story too.





   He heard the systematic whump, whump, whump of the chopper blades as
they beat through the heat-thickened air of the jungle clearing.  They
would be taking out the dead by now, the loads of wounded already evacked
on the previous dust offs.  Now just the non-living were housed in their
jungle green regulation body bags on the edge of the LZ set up for the dust
off.  Green body bags with the regulation ID in place if the corpsman had
the time to fill out the small yellow paper card and jam it into the
plastic holder.  Otherwise the dog tags were jammed between clenched teeth
to make sure the bag didn't head for the unknown soldiers grave plot.



   Jersey and Stretch lay out there, still and quiet.  No more one on one
basketball for these two back at China Beach, the cursing and name calling
rising above the sounds of the Animals or Stones making that tinny booming
sound when the volume of a small transistor sitting on a ledge of sand bags
was overridden.  No more complaining about who was getting stuck on guard
duty the most.  Stretch always got the better of Jersey, his tall frame
strung along the tent wall, a big grin lighting his black face as he
watched the redheaded kid's face turn angrier and angrier.



   "No fuckin' way should I be going out on night patrol again this week.
Sheet man, you ain't been out for...how many?  Six, seven nights now?  What
is it with you and Gunney, you playing drop the soap with him in the shower
or somepin?" Jersey would yell while getting his shit together for the
night patrol.



   "Somepin, that's right.  You got it good buddy.  Four fuckin' Oh on that
Intel my man, right on the money.  Me and the Gunney's tight, like real
asshole buddies.  Ain't you figured that out by now." The white-toothed
grin would split the black face in half as he drove it in a little deeper
to the redhead.



   No more basketball in the evening before chow.  No more bickering or
cards or listening to heavy metal or Motown music while smoking a doobie.
The two body bags were silent, resting in the red dust of the advancing
helicopters, the whumping blades swirling red clouds in patterns of tiny
whirlwinds, anyone in the vicinity ducking to avoid the stifling clouds. 
Lieutenant Jim Graceland watched the Army door gunner hop out with the crew
chief and help the Navy medic sling the body bags inside.  No Marine grunt
choppers on this Ops, had to use the ground pounders to ferry in the troops
and get the wounded and dead out.  Not a fitting end to two brave jarheads,
he thought spitting a wad of chewing tobacco onto the red dust.



   The operating had been SNAFU from the get go.  Military Intel, an
oxymoron if he'd ever heard one, had sent his unit into this valley in an
attempt to intersect an advancing column of hard core NVA's making a hard
left from Cambodia into the central highlands of 'Nam.  What the friggin'
Intel boys failed to find out was there were several cadre's of VC and NVA
already entrenched in the valley waiting for the rest of the bunch to form
up and head further southeast into central South Vietnam.



   Jim spat another wad of Redman into the dust watching a trail of jungle
ants inspect his chaw and decide it was juicy and sweet enough to drag
home. They started loading up the wet mess of tobacco, sliding big chunks
into their pinchers and heading back through the dust towards their
anthill. Goddamn spooks had let the local military boys in on it too. 
Couldn't wait to drag Colonel Ho into the fracas and let him bring in four
choppers full of his South Vietnamese Special Forces.



   Special Forces my ass, Jim thought.  Once those assholes got wind of the
upcoming operation they couldn't wait to run to the closest local hooch and
tell Blow-Job Annie where the jarheads were going including LZ times with
map grid positions and coordinates.  Miss Blow-Job, heavily connected with
the local VC through Cousin Wang, would rattle off the scoop as fast her
Gook fucking mouth could tattle and by the next morning the entire VC/NVA
in the valley was up to snuff on Uncle Sam's II Corp latest top-secret
operation.  Intelligence.  What a fucked up word in this God forsaken
fucked up land, Jim thought.



   Intelligence had killed Stretch and Jersey sure as shit.  It didn't take
no genius to see those bastards had staked out the entire LZ a day before
the grunts had shown up, the mortars all positioned to knock the shit out
of the jarheads as they jumped off them grunt choppers.  Out in West Texas
where Jim was raised his grand-daddy was fond of saying, "Sumtimes it don't
take no prairie dog shit on your boot to make yourself unwelcome at the
dinner table but it sure don't help the matter any either."



   That's what they'd made themselves, unwelcome at the dinner table.  The
VC knew when the choppers were coming.  Their bamboo spy network allowed
them to pretty much track all choppers leaving the Marines fire base and
follow them across the rice patties and swamp land to the LZ.  It wasn't
very sophisticated.  A phone call here, a RT message there and the guys
manning the mortars and machine gun emplacements knew the arrival time
within a ten-minute period.  No sophisticated ground radar used by these
paddy jumpers.  Just like the jungle back in Africa, tom toms replaced by
bamboo and telephone.



   The first four choppers into the LZ came in without a hitch, the landing
as quiet as the legendary church mouse hiding in the rafters during Sunday
service.  Jim had thought it strange that Colonel Ho had decided not to
take part in this joint exercise, claiming a prior engagement and driving
to his off base lodging with the two teenage sisters he was forcing to
serve him.  Instead he sent Captain Tan, a wiry little guy in his mid
forties with as much combat experience as any soldier in 'Nam.  He'd fought
the French at Dien Bin Phieu and had been fighting the VC from the start.
Him and the Colonel had some bad blood brewing though, Tan was looking to
show up Ho as an incompetent lazy asshole and take his place.



   Ho had wanted Tan's men in the first chopper but Jim should have been
further warned of something not being Kosher when Tan decided he would fly
in on the third and fourth wave, well after the first landings had been
made.  Maybe he suspected the VC or NVA's were there or he suspected the
Colonel was playing both sides against the middle.  Jim looked up at the
last rays of a dying sun on a dying battleground.  He shielded his eyes
against the glare as his Gunnery Sergeant strode up, his rifle held
haphazardly in his big right hand, the butt almost dragging the ground.



   "What's up Gunny, the men dug in?"



   "Best they can in this fucking red brick clay around the LZ.  They'll be
back you know, this is just the first little dance, the big barn dance will
come later."



   Jim looked closer at the man.  Gunney Ridgeway took off his helmet and
ran his leather skinned palm through the close cropped gray flecked hair
now damp with sweat and caked with the infernal red dust.  The man was from
the Dakota's; Jim could never remember North or South.  South, yea that was
it.  Deadwood.  Old Gunny could spin some tales about the gold rush in the
Black Hills and Wild Bill Hitchcock coming to town.  His big frame filled
the small lean-to the L.T.  had dug, his shoulders the size of a bull ox
and his forearms like tree trunks.  Jim had seen him take a raw recruit and
lift him off the ground with one hand around the kid's throat and let him
dangle there, face turning from red to blue while Gunny let the trooper
consider the error of his ways.  Yet, he'd seen him weep at the sides of
some of his fallen troops as they lay wounded or dying.



   "We got the shit kicked out of us today Gunny," Jim said spitting
another wad.



   Gunny reached in his combat fatigue shirt and pulled out a pack of Pall
Malls and lit one, blowing the smoke up into the hot air of the late day.
He didn't answer at first; his eyes surveyed the area where the troops were
digging in.  Sixteen choppers had flown in, eleven had flown out.  Five
birds downed by mortar and heavy weapons fire.  The machine guns and
AK-47's were cutting the men and machines in half as they tried to disgorge
the frightened and confused Marines.  The two choppers in the fifth wave
with Tan's special forces had turned away when the third chopper blew up on
the pad and a fourth took an RPG through the front windscreen and exploded
in mid air, seventy feet above the hard red clay.



   "Bastards really set us up L.T.  and it was probably Ho or Tan or both."



   "My money's on Ho," Jim said shifting his weight to ease the pain from
the shrapnel that had creased his left buttock in the mad scramble out of
the birds.



   "Ass hurt?"



   "Naw, not much."



   "Fuck it, that's gold L.T.  Purple heart numero tres gets you out of
this shit hole and back to the world.  Back to that round-eye you got back
there in West Texas.  Where's that place again?  Pecos?"



   Jim laughed a soft laugh.  "Not quite.  Pecos is about forty miles east
of where Interstate Ten splits into the Ten and Twenty.  I'm from Longview.
That's north of Lubbock on Interstate 27."



   "Interstate buck fuck if you ask me.  Shit, what am I saying, Deadwood
is not the metropolis of the West.  What's her name?"



   "Linda.  Linda Sue Bevins was the prettiest girl north of the Pecos
anyway.  She was my high school sweetheart.  Went together five years
before I went into the grunts."



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   Linda Sue sat bolt upright as the lights flashed against the drapes on
the big picture window in the Johnson's living room.  She'd dozed off,
trying to study algebra after the two boys were put to bed.  She glanced at
the wall clock over the fireplace.  Almost midnight.



   'Shit,' she thought, 'they said they'd be back before ten thirty.  They
knew this was a school night.'



   Mr.  Johnson owned the hardware store in the little Texas town Linda Sue
lived in.  Her mother worked at the hospital as a nurse's aide, which meant
she wiped old men's shitty bottoms and emptied bedpans all night long for a
measly six fifty and hour.  After taxes it was barely enough to cover their
rent on their small two-bedroom frame house and the monthly payments on the
seven-year old used Toyota her mother drove.



   Her father had left them and her younger brother when Linda Sue was only
five, driving off in the middle of the night amid the screams of her mother
about the man's carousing habits and frequent sexual trysts with women he
met in the small bars dotting the outskirts of Longview on Interstate 27.
"Enough is fuckin' enough," were the last words spoken between husband and
wife but the two had never divorced, time having generated the same effect
of separation as a piece of paper.



   Mary Bevins raised her daughter and small son alone, getting nursing
training at the small city college on a student loan and working the crappy
shifts at the Memorial Hospital while trying to obtain her RN certificate.
Lind Sue had actually raised her brother to the current age of ten while
she was about to turn thirteen in three months.



   Three months until becoming a teenager.  But what then?  The money
situation didn't dictate she'd get a chance to improve her meager wardrobe.
Currently her school outfits came from the Baptist Church's Thrift store.
Hand me downs and donations from the eastside of town where all the rich
people lived.



   Her most embarrassing day had come last September on her first day of
school.  It was just nippy enough for her to slip the cashmere sweater on
that the Church had sold her mother for the princely sum of five dollars
but only after she'd begged her mother to buy it, promising to do extra
chores and babysitting to pay for it.



   At twelve, the sweater was very important to her entrance into the
Junior High's eighth grade.  The first day was always the day you needed to
make a good impression even if you'd gone to school with eighty percent of
the kids in the year before.  Pine Tree had both a Middle School for the
seventh graders and a Junior High for the eighth and ninth graders before
going on to Pine Tree's own high school or one of two other public schools
in town not counting Student Development which everybody knew wasn't a real
high school like Longview or Pine tree were.



   Most of her friends wanted to go to Longview, which had twice as large
an enrollment as Pine Tree and was a top division one sports school. 
Longview had a great football team and Linda Sue had dreams about
cheerleading for the big high school.  Right now though she had to sweat
out making cheer squad here on the Pine Tree pep squad, a feat that would
be quite challenging seeing as to how she was a year younger than most
girls in her class.



   Damn, I wish Mom hadn't agreed to jump me from third to fifth grade, she
thought.  Her third grade teacher, Miss Hornsby had informed her mother
Linda Sue was what they called gifted and would soon be bored unless she
was offered more challenges.  Mom was thrilled hearing her only daughter
called gifted and had agreed to the promotion.  Linda Sue, for her part,
never missed a beat, keeping up with the other kids just fine and gaining
praise from her teachers.



   The only real problem was Linda Sue's development physically.  While her
seventh grade classmates developing more mature voices (the boys) and small
tits sprung out on the chests of most girls, Linda Sue's small twelve-year
old frame was just as straight and skinny as it had been at age eleven. 
So, entering the eighth grade was a major event and the three Kleenexes she
stored in each small A cup bra was her attempt to join her more mature
classmates physically as well as mentally.  Her efforts were earnest and
naïve but bound for failure with her snooty peers.



   "Look, that little Linda Sue is wearing my sweater," piped up Susan
Everett as Linda Sue strolled across the campus, her arms empty and devoid
of the usual set of schoolbooks which she could have tried to hide the
embarrassment of wearing someone's cast off clothes.  But the next comment
was even more devastating.  "And look, her tits are all funny looking.  You
wouldn't have anything stuffed inside there to make your tits bigger, would
you little girl?"



   Two of the girls had been daring enough to step up and poke an index
finger into the center of Linda Sue's J.C.  Penny junior bra, the tissue
paper issuing an audible sound as it was squished, the tit becoming an
inverted pyramid of shame.



   The sounds of the laughter from the group rang in the young pre-teens
ears for the rest of that day and every day since.  In high school it only
took one incidence from the past to label a person a "geek" or "weirdo,"
both terms casting a social stigma that threatened a girl the rest of her
life.  From that day forward the name "Crinkle Tits" became Linda Sue's
permanent nickname, a name of such shame she'd flee crying every time
someone shouted it at her which was quite often.



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   Stan Johnson came though the front door with a big shit-eating grin on
his face.  His beefy right hand was wrapped around the thin arm of his dyed
blonde wife, her gait too unstable for her to walk alone.  He held her up
and walked her towards the stairs leading to the second floor bedrooms.



   "Jest be a sec, hon," he mumbled, his words slurred from his alcohol
intake.



   The condition of the two parents was not surprising, they usually came
back pretty drunk especially Jackie Johnson.  The country club bar closed
at eleven-thirty on weeknights and it looked like the Johnson's had spent a
Thursday evening closing it.  Well, it's was only an eight-block walk to
her house anyway and they always tip good.  She got three dollars an hour
for the babysitting job on weeknights; five bucks on weekends and Stan
Johnson always threw in an extra five spot to whatever the hourly billing
came to.



   "Jest between you and me, sweetie," he'd mutter pressing the five-dollar
bill into her hand and giving it a squeeze and then leaning over for a
goodnight kiss, his additional payment for the tip.  Last week though when
he'd leaned in for the kiss at the front door he'd suddenly grasped her
chin in his hand and brought his mouth onto her startled lips, slipping his
tongue into her mouth as she'd gasped in shock.



   The taste of the bourbon on her tongue had at first disgusted her but as
she walked home the sensations rushing through her body had confused her.
This was no little boy kiss, the thick male tongue thrusting inside her
mouth, the thick saliva penetrating her taste buds, his hand briefly placed
on the right cheek of her ass as he drew her close.  She's fought, her
small hands beating at his thick chest and he'd withdrawn after a few
seconds, his drunken laughter ringing in her ears.  Yet, that was not the
type of laughter she'd been exposed to from her peers.  this was a man who
wanted her body and was only laughing at her uncomfortable feelings.



   Stan came stumbling down the stairs and walked up to the schoolgirl.



   "Sorry again 'bout the late night.  Couldn't drag Jackie away from the
dance floor.  Here," he said opening the front door, "I'll drive you home."



   "No, that's all right.  I don't live that far away."



   "Nonsense.  Look it's almost midnight.  How can I let a pretty little
girl like you walk home alone?"



   "You've let me do it each time until now."



   "Well just color me stupid for doing that sweetheart.  No problem at
all, I'll just get you there in a few minutes," he said placing his hand on
her back and pushing her slim frame through the door.



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   "Why are you turning down Elm?" Linda Sue asked startled as she realized
they weren't going directly to her house.



   "Gotta make a pit stop," the big guy belched, raising his fat rump off
the front seat of the truck and cutting a loud fart, "Uh fuck, excuse me
sweetie, guess them steak and beans have hit my ass like a Tejas tornado.
Better roll down that window, that one's gonna stink like shit."



   Linda Sue did as he suggested, smelling the rank aroma of the man's gas
and cursing under her breath for taking this fool job from the two
drunkards.  Besides, he still owed her twelve bucks for the baby-sitting
plus the usual five-dollar tip.  Better give me a fuckin' twenty for
tonight; she thought watching the truck spin into a liquor store parking
lot.  Five or six Mexicans hung out in front and Linda Sue was made even
more uncomfortable.



   "What are you going to do?" she asked anxiously.



   "Gonna just buy a little nightcap.  What - you worried about those boys?
Wait a sec.  Hey amigos," Stan said and then rattled something off in
Spanish to the bunch.



   "What did you tell them," the girl said aghast at the man's behavior.



   Stan laughed a big jackass type of guffaw.  "I jest told them you were a
cherry and to leave you alone.  Your ass belonged to me and if one of them
stepped out of line I'd kick his ass all the way back over to the barrio."



   "You didn't say that, did you?"



   "Sure as Hell did.  They won't bother you now, they know old Stan is an
ass kicker from way back, all them Meztizo's know that."



   Before Linda Sue could reply he'd stepped away from the truck and
entered the small store.  The girl sat in the front seat of the pickup
weighting her choices.  She was even further away from her house now, a
good twenty blocks and if she took off walking, there was no guarantee
these guys wouldn't follow her and do terrible things to her.  Doing
twisted and perverted things to her innocent body with their big Mexican
dicks.



   She shuddered thinking about big Mexican dicks and despite herself she
felt moisture between her legs.  The same moisture she'd felt a lot more
often lately especially when she got around several boys.  Those boys
including the hunk down the street from her, Jim Graceland who was in the
tenth grade and a star at Longview High.  Now that was a guy she'd love to
let take her innocence but he barely gave the skinny kid down the block the
time of day.



   Stan gunned the truck and spun out away from the liquor store, the
Mexicans yelling profanities in Spanish at his retreating back and the
heavyset man sticking his middle finger out the window in a farewell
salute.



   "Hoo - hot doggity, you are a little sweetheart Sue."



   "Linda Sue," the girl said, perturbed he didn't even remember her name,
a further degradation to her and her Miss Crinkle Tits title.



   "Whatever," he barked, opening the cap on the bottle and taking a deep
slug.  "Here have a hit," he said pushing the bottle in her direction.  She
shook her head negatively and he shrugged and put the cap back on.  He
rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, expelling a long burst of hot
breath as the alcohol fired its way down to his gullet.  The pint bottle of
Jim Beam was one third gone and the man belched loudly, Linda Sue cringing
as she waited for him to fart again.  What a disgusting asshole.



   Suddenly the truck veered off the quiet street about two blocks from her
house up over the curb and onto the grass of a small one half-block park
that looked deserted at almost one in the morning.



   "What are you doing, my house is over there."



   He turned in the seat, his eyes partially glazed but a fervid look had
come over his face, the eyes cunning and cold.



   "Well Missy, I think it's time we got a little better acquainted.  I
always get better acquainted with my baby sitters sooner of later.  With
you, I must admit you're a rung or two younger than my usual ones though.
Hey, what da hey, closer the bone, sweeter the fuckin' meat."



   "Please don't curse," Linda Sue said, her voice quavering as she tried
to put up a brave front.  Maybe he just wanted to talk.



   "Fuck you.  Better yet, let me fuck you but first I want to see those
sweet lips wrapped around the head of my big, fat cock."



   For the first time Linda Sue noticed the man had slipped off his pants
when he took his wife upstairs and was now wearing a pair of dark gray
sweat pants.  She could see a terrible rise in the crotch of those pants,
the long object inside threatening to burst through the stretched material.



   "Please, I never..." she started but he just grinned, interrupting.



   "Don't I fucking know you never have, bitch, that's what makes you so
tight assed and desirable?  I know all about you and what they call you at
that junior high school you go to.  Shit, Wade Henry's boy told me and his
Dad all about Miss Crinkle Tits, that's why I called your mother to have
you baby sit.  I knew no one had got to you yet, they wouldn't dare get
caught messing with Crinkle Tits and losing their status at junior high,
now would they?"



   Linda Sue bit her lip, saying nothing.  Surely he wouldn't go so far as
to try and have sex with her, she'd tell her mother who'd tell his wife in
a heartbeat.



   "Think you'll tell, right?" He must be reading my thoughts, she mused
nervously.



   "No I wouldn't do that," she muttered; fear gripping her that he'd
murder her after he had his way if she threatened to tell someone.



   "Bullshit, you'll blab to that fat cunt of a mother of yours so fast
she'll shit a brick.  Problem is, you know old Wade Henry I was talking
about?  You know what he does?"



   "Uh, he's a doctor?"



   "Right, give the girl a kewpie doll.  But he's more than just a doctor.
He's the regional medical director at the hospital where your Mom works. 
Do you know what I could get old Wade to do if your Mom said anything about
me and you?"



   "Fire her."



   "Another fuckin' kewpie doll.  You must be a freakin' brain, kid.  A
regular Einstein.  Now, let's see what you know about polishing the old
knob, huh?"



   He peeled the sweats down to mid thigh, an ugly looking cock springing
up from between his legs, the tip an angry red, all swollen and wet
looking. Linda Sue had seen her brother's cock but he was barely out of
short pants and it had been a miniscule two or three inches long.  This
thing was at least three or four times longer than that.  If she had to
guess she'd say it had to be close to a foot long but she would be the
first to admit her vision was probably distorted by the situation she was
in.



   "Oh my Gawd, that thing is huge," she gasped.



   "Yep, that's what all the girlie's say the first time they see it. 
Almost nine inches of hot cock, a real treat for the girlies.  Try and see
how much of it you can cram down your throat and be quick about it, I ain't
got all night."



   Linda Sue reached for the door handle of the pickup truck and turned the
lever.  Nothing happened.  She glanced at the windowsill and saw to her
horror the lock button was down.



   "Power locks with child proof button kitten."



   He suddenly grabbed her forearm and drug her across the seat, his other
hand going for the nape of her neck where he pinched her tightly, drawing
the blonde headed girl towards the jutting piece of flesh in his lap.



   "Come on sweetie, it'll taste good," he slurred, managing to slide his
now free left hand under the band of her shorts and then under the pair of
cotton panties she was wearing.  She felt the fingers slide between the
twin moons of her ass, the tightly packed flesh cleaved apart like a knife
through warm butter, the sweat from the hot night and her fear paving the
way.  Over the rubbery bump of her anus but not before doing a quick probe
of that tight hole with his middle finger, testing it's resiliency and
pliability and bringing a gasp of horror from Linda Sue when she realized
he might be planning on plundering that forbidden hole also.



   Her face was suddenly colliding with the wet head of the man's cock
before she could protest the testing of her sphincter.  Too soon he was
brushing her tightly clenched teeth with the dripping head, grunting as he
moved the big cock this way and that trying to force her jaws apart.  His
drooling cock spittle coated her pale lips and teeth leaving them slick and
slimy feeling.



   "Come on now girlie, give old Stan a little head, will 'ya.  I'll tip
'ya a neat twenty this time, how 'bout it.  I know you can suck real good,
I've seen those lips of yours and they were born to suck a fat cock."



   Linda Sue couldn't answer, her every effort was aimed at thwarting the
big fat man from shoving that evil piece of flesh into her young mouth. 
Then she felt him slide his hand over her anus, the middle finger leaving
abruptly and sliding down into the crevice of her sweat soaked cunt.  She
winced as he probed the tight lips, a jolt of pain hitting her solar plexus
as he none too gently rammed a finger into the dime sized hole he found
there.  Then he was probing her hymen, pushing against the membrane and
sending waves of pain shooting through her body.  Unfortunately this sudden
intrusion gained the evil man the opening he was searching for.  The girl's
mouth opened involuntarily as the pain hit her and the thick cock went in
immediately.



   "Don't even think about biting me you little cunt, I'll rip your fucking
head off if you do and cum down your neck, you better believe me."



   "She did, never doubting a man who could infuriate a bunch of drunken
Mexicans and dare kidnap a young girl to rape her wouldn't hesitate in
leaving her dead body somewhere.  He'd blame it on the Mexican laborers
probably saying they did it to get revenge against him, thinking the girl
was his daughter or something.



   Her mouth was suddenly filled with hot cock, the intrusion forcing her
tongue to flatten and her taste buds introduced to the man's thick precum
oozing relentlessly from the curved slit at the tip of his purple cockhead.
The coronal ridge scraped her palate, sliding the slimy sauce along the
roof of her mouth where it ran down the sides and pooled on her tongue. 
She swallowed, the first batch of male essence reaching her glands, the
taste slightly salty and reminding her of freshly mowed lawns.



   "Yea bitch, this won't take too long, you've got em hotter than a
Goddamned firecracker.  You are one sweet piece of ass even if you don't
look too pretty and ain't got no tits.  Nice ass on you though.  Maybe I'll
bust that heinie of yours before I take your puss, whatcha say?"



   She couldn't say anything, the big cock running back and forth in her
crammed mouth as he used her face like a cunt, dragging her head up and
down over the cockhead, feeling the sperm in his balls rumble and threaten
to explode in a rush of molten snot.  It's been a few months since he'd
talked the gal doing the bookkeeping at the hardware store to go to the
motel with him for an extended lunch hour.  She suffered her intolerable
bosses sexual demands periodically when he promised to stuff her weekly
paycheck with a crisp one hundred dollar bill, never equating the favor
with the fact she was no better than the prostitutes down on Seventh
Street.



   Stan's wife had long ago given up on sex with her brutish husband, much
preferring her female friends although she had yet to admit she was a true
lesbian.  That would come about shortly, as soon as Stan was caught with
the eleven-year old daughter of one of his employees at a picnic at the
lake.  His habit of forced oral copulation would land him a long stint in
Huntsville where a shank through the heart by a person urged to "do in the
fuckin' short eyed mutha fucker" would bring this part of the saga to an
end.  But not before he got his fill of the twelve-year old in the front
seat of his Ford pickup.



   "Gonna shoot baby, here it comes," he warned the child.



   Suddenly a gusher of hot male cum filled her overfilled mouth just as
Stan withdrew his cockhead to the edge of her mouth just inside her
trembling lips.  Blast after blast of hot slimy juice hit the walls of her
mouth, her tongue and throat until her mouth was almost overflowing, a full
half a cup of male juice swirling around or dripping over her bottom lip.



   "Swallow bitch," he muttered and Linda Sue did, letting the oyster like
sauce run down her gullet, hanging there briefly in long slivers of cum,
her stomach lurching at the taste and feeling, her whole being trying not
to vomit onto the man for fear of what he would do.



   "Good, good," he muttered falling back in the seat and pushing her head
off his groin.



   Linda Sue sat there gagging, juice running off her lip to drip in a
relentless stream onto the pink top she was wearing.  The one that said
"SPOILED BRAT" in diamond sequins and now had pearls of a different kind
beading and sliding down the cotton front.  Her matching pink shorts were
also wet where the excess now dripped and fell directly into her small lap,
her shorts still pushed down to mid thigh where the man's fat hand had left
them along with her panties, her naked pubes peppered with goose bumps from
the chill of what she had just experienced.



   "Ahhh nothing like getting your nut in a virgin mouth to give a man a
new perspective on life, right cutie?" he unscrewed the cap on the Jim Beam
and took another healthy slug, the raw alcohol cutting through the fog of
exhaustion his body was feeling after the cum and bringing his cock and
balls back into a new and healthy state.  His cum slick cock twitched and
then rose a few inches, laying in along and lazy arc across his hairy
thighs.



   "Here have a hit, you deserve it," he said pushing the bottle towards
the trembling girl.  Linda Sue looked at the almost empty bottle and in a
fit of anger and disgust she snatched the pint from the big hand and
brought it to her lips, the smell of the raw alcohol gagging her again but
she tilted her head back and let the raw liquor run into her mouth in a
steady stream until there was nothing left in the bottle.



   "Haaaa," she breathed out as the fire touched her mouth and throat but
the alcohol masked the raw taste of male cum and the fire in her stomach
eased some of the pain in her heart.



   "Great girlie, feel better now?"



   She didn't answer, reaching down and pulling first her panties and then
her shorts up and over her buttocks.



   "Hey, not so fast, we're just getting started," Stan said reaching over
and putting his hand on hers as she drug her shorts back up.



   "Guess again, asshole," a voice suddenly spoke from directly outside
Stan's window.



   The door was wrenched open and a hand almost as big as Stan's shot
through the doorway and grabbed the beefy man by his shirt.  With
surprising strength the hand drug the fat man off the seat and onto the
park grass and Linda Sue saw her champion was none other than her high
school heart throb Jim Graceland from down the block.



   She never knew how he came to be in the park at one in the morning or
why he decided to take on the fat merchant other than his mumbled excuse he
had seen a young girl in trouble and didn't want to walk away just because
there was danger.



   He'd given Stan a solid beating.  The fat man was strong but not quick
and the kid, already approaching six feet tall, moved quicker than greased
lighting.  Stan would tell his employees and friends a bunch of Mexicans
jumped him but the truth managed to leak out in rumors of the high school
kids butt kicking of the fat man.



   The boy helped the girl from the truck, placing his letterman jacket
around her and walking her down the street to her home.



   "If he bothers you again, just give me a call," he whispered down into
her ear as he walked her.



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   "Why did you become a jarhead L.T.?" Gunny said, jerking Jim out of his
reverie of how he and Linda Sue had first met.  "Smart boy like you I'd
think you'd be one of those swabbies or something.  On board some aircraft
carrier out in the Gulf working for some admiral in some air conditioned
office instead of eating dust with the rest of us jar heads."



   Jim laughed a small laugh without answering.  That's exactly what his Pa
told him when he graduated college at University of Texas and knew his
number was going to put him into the draft.  Go Navy kid, don't be a
fucking ground pounder like your old man was in Korea.  Froze our nuts off
and this one will be just the opposite.  Them Navy boys feed good too.  Hot
meals seven days a week, no K rats out there.



   Yea, it sounded good but Jim was too headstrong to listen.  He wanted to
be a Marine and show he had what it took.  Like playing quarterback for the
Longview Owls, it weren't for the fuckin' glory it was just simply to show
he could.



   Jim reached in and pulled the chaw out of his mouth and flung it in the
general direction the trail of red ants were marching off towards.  Save
them some hiking time he figured.  He took a sip out of his canteen,
shaking it to note he had about two thirds left.  For how long?  Probably a
few days until they could get this area secured if ever, this would have to
last a while.



   "Why'd they boogie L.T.?  They had the upper hand with us pinned down on
this flat terrain and them holding the bush and hills." Gunney looked to
the west where a string of low green covered hillocks rose above the thick
trees.  "Shit, got them mortars up on the hill line looking down our
fucking throats and they could have taken us all out.  Figure out what
they're up to?"



   Jim looked towards the low slung hills, his mind trying to work through
the puzzle he'd already thought of and the one Gunney was reminding him of
now.



   "Can't put much cotton on how or why they did it Gunney.  They had
orders and them orders were not to kill us all.  Somebody over there is
pretty smart.  He knows we'll get word out we're pinned down and in danger
of being wiped out.  Freaking Custer's Last Stand type of thing, you know.
Custer never got to get no reinforcements through, Sitting Bull made sure
of that."



   "Preaching to the choir L.T., born and raised in them Black Hills you
know?"



   "Right Gunney, that's why I used it as an example.  Thought you'd
appreciate the humor in that."



   Gunney nodded, not grinning and tossed the butt of the Pall Mall in the
same direction Jim's chaw had gone.  Why field strip out here?  Made no
sense.



   "This here NVA military genius," Jim continued, "sees a golden
opportunity to draw in more of our forces in the hopes of wiping out a much
larger enemy group.  Why waste his talents on our puny assed bunch
especially after we've just received almost a fifty percent casualty
rating? Otherwise he'd never let those Evac guys take out the dead or
wounded." Jim thought about the prolonged decision to bring in the rescue
chopper which had only been attempted after a squad of A-4's had laid a
shit load of napalm across the treeline and turned a lot of the green
hilled ridge a burnt brown color.



   Jim knew they'd not done a bit of good with the drop; them Gook assholes
had long gone to ground into their underground tunnels and bunkers.  The
chopper pilots had sent in one bird to take out the wounded with the best
chance of survival and then a second and then a third until they finally
sent in four at a time to get all the wounded out.  It was only when the
fly boys came in to get the troops out the guns and mortars on the hill had
resumed at a relentless pace, driving away the birds and ending, at least
for now, any attempt at further Evacs.



   "What's the final tally?" Jim asked the Gunnery Sergeant.



   "Eighteen killed, twenty two wounded.  That's out of about one hundred
troops who made it out onto the LZ.  That's not counting the boogers like
you who weren't hit bad enough to make the dust off.  Count another two
dozen in that category."



   "That's almost fifty percent then just like we thought.  So we're dug in
here with less than sixty men looking at what?  Three hundred or so regular
NVA's and a shit pot of Cong in the bushes.  You know what Colonel
Anderson's going to say about that, don't you?"



   "Hold the friggin' line," Gunney said lighting another Pall Mall.  "What
now L.T.?"



   "You asking me?  You're the expert in this department, remember, I'm
just the snot nosed kid from West Texas who's still wet behind the ears. 
I'm still in diapers trying to crawl out of the baby buggy shitting yellow
behind me."



   "Right, I got all the answers." Gunny Ridgeway paused, deep in thought.
"Look, ain't no use of us sitting here picking boogers and playing with our
dingle berries.  We've got to make sure they haven't cut off a line of
retreat so we can maneuver out of here for a pickup away from them damn
mortar lines up there.  If we broadcast a new pick up point the same shit
will probably happen.  They have us pegged either from listening or by
getting wind of our shitty Intel back at base.  Too dangerous to chance
another like this morning."



   "Gotcha, I agree.  Who goes and where do we go?"



   "Well that's the tough part.  I should go but I don't dare leave you
with these kiddies in case they attack again.  I think you need an old hand
to hold the line and keep the shit together."



   "Then I go?" Jim said.



   Gunney shrugged.  "Makes a site more sense L.T.  I'll give your
Martinez, Simmons, Bently, Swazy and Hutch.  That's four good weps guys and
one hell of a good tracker in Martinez plus you got the best translator in
the group with Hutch.  Plus with 'Nez doing the lead guide work he won't
get you lost.  Baby Huey is your radio man and you got Swazy on explosives
and Bentley as backup RT."



   "Much obliged, sounds good.  Let's look at the map." They both bent over
an Army map of the region in the fading light.  "Look, here's a stream
about six klicks west.  If you and the guys didi mau along this gully and
you're lucky they don't have patrols out, you might make it to this point
here," Gunney's finger traced across the brown and yellow terrain map down
a small wiggly line of blue denoting the stream, "and there is a bunch of
hooches strung along this stream at the bend.  They might well be Hmong and
Hutch speaks Hmong Gook real good.  Maybe you can contact II Corps for an
Arc Light."



   Jim nodded knowing an Arc Light strike involving the massive bomb loads
carried by the B-52's out of Guam might just knock out the enemy implanted
on the ridge.  Might was the operative word.  The friendlies were in mighty
tight for that kind of a drop.  Those dude often got a little off on their
coordinates and friendly fire was not something you wanted from an Arc
Light drop.



   The Viet Cong and the NVA's hated the Hmong and the feeling was mutual.
The Hmong people were being eradicated as rapidly as possible for their
hardheaded aggression against the invading fighters and for helping such
outfits as the Green Berets work in the hill country.



   "Right but that might take awhile even if they are Hmong this low on the
valley.  Meanwhile you could take boo-coo casualties in here from a
re-attack." They were only less than a hundred klicks inside Laos, the home
of the Hmong tribes but some had drifted into Vietnam and settled on the
more hospitable slopes of the hills and mountains in this plain growing
their crops and raising their animals and being periodically enslaved or
slaughtered by the NVA.



   "Yea, that's true.  But if we sit on our asses and wait for the Colonel
to act we might as well wait until hell freezes over.  While the Arc Light
is going on we can didi mau to the new LZ for a pick up.  No new troops put
to risk and we're out of here to fight another day.  Got a better plan?"
Gunney asked.  Jim didn't answer.  He had no other plan.  The two men sat
in silence thinking through the actions they had available.  II Corps had
warned them into radio silence unless under an attack that threatened to
wipe out the remaining troopers dug in on the red clay field.



   Jim's units move out of Danang into II Corps near Dak To had been
unsettling to the troops who knew of this region.  Close to the Ho Chi Ming
trail running through Laos, it was a hot bed of NVA activity and never a
nice place to set down your roots.  Gunney knew enough jarheads coming back
to R & R at China Beach telling of mass casualties on search and destroy
missions in the area.  And here they were, up to their collective necks in
alligators with no quick way to get out.



   Night fell and Jim called his squad together and briefed them.  Under no
conditions were they to fire their weapons.  The opportunity to slip
through the enemy perimeter required the utmost stealth and silence.  The
little yellow men in the funny pajamas were masters of stealth, moving
through the thick jungle vegetation with barely a whisper of sound, pausing
only minutes to sip an ounce of water and swallow half a cold rice ball
with a fish head in the middle.  That is if they were lucky they would find
a fish head and in bad times they did without the rice ball and the water.



   "Here," Jim said passing out a roll of brown twine and a roll of duct
tape, "use this to tie your pants with and your tags together.  No belts or
buckles or other metal that can clack against something.  Tie your weapons
in your pancho's except for the scout.  He'll go on the ready and if we get
in the shit he's weapons free to take out the enemy if shots are fired and
only then.  Got that Martinez?"



   "Got it L.T.  No firing unless fired upon," the slim Hispanic said
ducking his head shyly.  He never spoke much, kept to himself and just
listened but he was the best damn scout in the outfit.



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   They moved out shortly after midnight when the moon decided to take a
long siesta behind some low hanging clouds.  It was pitch black, each step
on the jungle floor bringing sounds of bending and breaking fauna.  To the
ears of the crouching marines it sounded like a multitude of fireworks
going off.



   "Sheet, hold down the noise, will 'ya?" Martinez whispered back over his
shoulder.  "Sound like a herd of water buffaloes back there."



   "Sorry Hector," Jim grunted giving the sign for silence to the advancing
column.  Soon the jungle matting got softer and wetter and Jim heard the
distinctive sound of water rushing close by.  He held his palm up to stop
the men from behind but in the dark the next man in line suddenly rammed
him hard in the butt.  Jim winced in pain, the man jabbing him exactly
where he'd taken the shrapnel hit.  He squatted down and waited for the
others to gather around.



   "Wait for Martinez to scout the creek before we go down.  They probably
have a patrol keeping and eye out down there."



   The men sat silently wishing for a smoke or a drink or something but
sooner than expected the scout came back.  He put his lips close to Jim's
ear.



   "Three maybe four men in a foxhole down about fifty yards on the other
bank.  We need to either go around them or take them out."



   Jim sat silently trying to decide what Gunney would do in his place. 
Taking them out was very risky seeing it was maybe four men already dug in.
Shots were sure to be fired.  He looked at the steep sandy cliff leading
down to the stream.  Now way to back track now and no way to hug the stream
bed and be unseen.



   "We cross here and go back the other way and try and find a way to get
behind and around them."



   "That's mighty tricky L.T., probably more patrols that way," Martinez
whispered.  The green and black painted faces all looked towards the young
officer each wondering just how much faith they should put in his ability
to get them out of this.  He'd seen action with them on several occasions
and so far had demonstrated he was capable of clear-headed thinking when
needed and the shit hit the fan.



   "Look, I remember the map showed another smaller stream up the way.  It
might take us to where we can bypass these guys.  It's worth a try."



   The men nodded silently and the group filed down the red sandy slope to
the water below.  It was very cold, a welcome relief in the heat of the
jungle.  d One of the men bent to fill up his canteen but Jim waved him
upright indicating this was not the time to dawdle.  They moved at as rapid
a pace as they could, trying not to splash the cold water which came to
their knee caps.  Soon the coldness began to numb the men's tired limbs
making the ability not to splash almost impossible.  Jim was really worried
about more patrols when suddenly he saw Martinez in a shaft of moonlight
indicating off to the left.  It was the other creek intersecting a cut in
the high bank.



   Now the moon and clouds played peek-a-boo, briefly illuminating the row
of men for a minute or two before draping them in the inky darkness of the
jungle night.  Birds made little noise preferring to sleep in the dark but
several times large animals could be heard in the brush along the bank. 
They moved slowly into the wash and about a mile upstream the bank dropped
back down to a small hillock and the men climbed from the freezing creek.



   "Take five," Jim whispered as the men collapsed.  He went forward and
caught up with Martinez.  They knelt next to a tall tree and looked at the
map under the red lens of the flashlight.



   "Here," Martinez said pointing to where he thought there position was.
It was almost dawn, the light to the east getting brighter, and the night
almost fading to nothing.



   "Right, about five clicks to the village.  We went out of the way moving
down that stream.  Cut across this hillside and down into the valley and
we're there."



   "I'm shoving off.  Keep the radio on with minimum volume.  I'll give
three quick clicks for an all clear and two means we've got trouble."



   "Got it.  Be careful, don't want to walk up on some Gook just getting up
to take a shit," Jim said.



   "His last shit on earth," Martinez grunted moving off.



   +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   They lay in the cool of the jungle morning listening to the birds shout
their joy at the upcoming day.  Spider monkeys chattered from the vines and
branches high up in the trees where the jungle canopy shut out most of the
sunlight.  The ground was moist and covered in heavy green moss.  The cool
moss felt like expensive suede under Jim's hand as he chewed a small plug
of Redman to ease the tensions knotting his gut.



   He glanced at the other four infantrymen and tried to piece together
what he really knew of them.  Not a hell of a lot if the truth be told. 
Simmons was a Mormon from Utah who neither smoked nor drank.  The rest of
the guys treated him like shit until it came time for the booze or
cigarette rations then they were all nice-nice to him in hopes of getting
his rats.  No matter how many miles they marched or how much exercise they
got Simmons could never lose that roll of fat around his middle or the
chubby red cheeks on his face.  His nickname was "Baby Huey" and Jim
laughed to himself thinking how well the moniker fit the farm boy.  At
twenty-three he was almost the oldest enlisted man in the unit but in ways
the most inexperienced of the group.



   Bently and Swazy were two teens from big cities back in the Midwest and
the East Coast; Chicago and Philadelphia and both were street smart kids
who had grown up in urban gangs and knew how to ply their trade from the
back alleys of the city to the green hills of Vietnam.  Never volunteer and
bitch at every little slight or perceived slight until the NCO's opted to
bypass them on assignments than listen to their bitching.



   Hutch was an eighteen-year old westerner from San Diego, a surfing dude.
Light blond hair cut in a close buzz cut and a peace sign on the sign of
his helmet along with the de reigeur FTC, the equivalent to the Navy's FTN.
A colonel back in Danang had braced him to attention and read him the riot
act about his choice of helmet decoration but Hutch just shrugged off the
thirty hours of extra duty and laughed with the rest of the guys when they
kidded him.  He spent endless hours telling the guys about all the round
eye quail he got on the surfing tours, making him a favorite around any
beer bust or pot party to listen to.  If the guys couldn't get any they at
least loved to hear about it.



   Jim thought about the three men who had come on board right before they
had shoved off for the highlands.  All any one ever called them was "FNG's"
for Fuckin' New Guys.  No one wanted to know anything about them or talk
much to them.  They weren't combat hardened yet so none of them warranted
the respect or time a fellow soldier earned in battle so they were ignored.
It was too bad, no one showed them the few extra things that might have
kept them alive and whether by fate or simply the fact they were FNG's, all
three had gone back home in a green body bag that previous morning.



   Jim spat the plug of tobacco into the hole he had dug into the soft
earth along with the juice he had expectorated over the last few minutes.
Gunney Ridgeway would have had his ass seeing him chewing on a patrol but
Gunney wasn't here to wet nurse him and the taste of the tobacco had eased
his cramping stomach.  He bit off a bit of jerky and a swallow of water. 
The water was swift running and they didn't have time to use the tablets or
boil it.  He'd take his chances with the trots later if and when he got his
ass out of this sling and got back to base camp.  Right now that was a big
if.



   Jim stood and gave the sign to form up.  The four men did so without
complaint knowing their ability to follow orders even from a young
Lieutenant might get them out of here alive.  None of them wanted to go
home a big war here sprouting a bunch of medals on their chest but being
carried out in a pine wood box.



   They moved along a slight path through the jungle until the overgrowth
thinned slightly letting in enough sunlight to turn the murky gloom of
morning into bright shafts of golden sunlight.  Jim jumped as his RT made
three quick clicks.  He grinned at Hutch behind him and made the four oh
sign.  He turned back towards the trail and saw a clearing immediately
ahead.  Martinez suddenly stepped out of a clump of underbrush alongside
the trail.



   "Farm hooch about a hundred yards ahead.  No one in sight but smoke from
a chimney."



   "All right.  We'll send Huey up."



   "You sure, L.T.?"



   "He's our automatic weps guy.  If the shit hits the fan I want a large
degree of firepower laid down quick."



   "Yea, that's probably smart except Baby Huey isn't the sharpest crayon
in the box if you get my drift."



   "Maybe it's time he grew up Martinez.  Send him up."



   The brown skinned Marine went down the line and brought Simmons back up
with him.  The Mormon kid looked scared, real scared and Martinez rolled
his eyes behind the stocky kid's back to indicate he thought Jim was making
the wrong choice.



   "Simmons take point and move into the Gook village.  If somebody farts I
want you to check for a weapon and if you see one I want you to let her
rip. Same goes with any weapons fire.  You are A-OK for free fire, do you
get my drift son?"



   Calling the chubby kid son was strange to Jim knowing he was less than
two or three years his junior but he thought it a befitting order when
sending a guy off to hang his ass in the wind.  Huey unwrapped the
automatic rifle from his poncho and slid it off lock onto automatic.  He
glanced at Martinez and then back at the young Lieutenant and nodded, his
face a pasty white making the bright red blush of his chubby cheeks stand
out even more and further enforce the nickname Baby Huey.



   As Simmons eased forward Martinez leaned close and whispered, "Let me
bring Swazy up with the sawed off in case he is rushed.  He can bring that
scatter gun up quick and dust off any surprises."



   Jim nodded, already questioning his decision to use the kid as he slowly
moved from the jungle growth into the open field where he now saw five huts
were nestled close together.  Smoke rose from three short chimneys in the
thatch roof indicating someone was home, the brown fields beyond the
cluster of huts tilled and planted with a mid summer crop blooming.  Swazy
moved past the two, the sawed off shotgun with the grenade launcher now at
the ready, his eyes alert and watching the cluster of dwellings.  Jim felt
a little better seeing Simmons back up go out there but he still had a
chill down his back.



   Suddenly from the closest hooch a little guy in black pajamas and top
stepped from the doorway and turned towards the advancing Marine.  Seeing
Simmons, the old guy looked startled and yelled something into the doorway
and a little girl, maybe eight or nine came out and ran behind him, hiding
behind his skinny frame.  The old man looked to be in his seventies, small
and frail.  He tucked one hand behind his back as if to protect the child
behind him and then he started walking directly towards Simmons chatting
loudly and smiling.  The girl stayed behind for a second and then ducked
inside the doorway.



   Simmons glanced back towards the L.T., uncertainty written all over his
face as to how to handle the advancing old man and Jim cursed again for his
stupid choice of point man.  He could tell Baby Huey was unsure if he
should stop the guy who appeared friendly and if so, how to go about it.



   "Halt, stay where you are," Huey said in a quaking voice but the old man
kept advancing smiling and jabbering.



   "Hutch," Jim barked, "you make out anything he's saying?"



   "Sorry L.T., too far away," the blonde said leaning forward, listening
intently.



   Swazy for his part never took his eyes off the old man, moving as
swiftly as he could to his left to clear the firing angle and range between
the chubby Marine and the farmer.



   "Don't like this, don't like this at all L.T.," Martinez was mumbling.
All the men had cleared their weapons by now and had formed a skirmish line
at the edge of the brush behind a small hillock, their weapons zeroing in
on the old man and the huts.



   "Nobody fire, this old guy could be Hmong and is just greeting Baby
Huey. Wait, wait," he warned his charges whispering softly.  Then with a
feeling of horror just as the old man was less than a half a dozen paces
from Simmons he saw the man's right hand had not been down at his side but
was actually behind his back.



   "Tell him to back off and stop..." Jim yelled but before the words fully
cleared his mouth the old farmer brought his hand from behind his back and
in his bony little fist was a four-foot machete almost as tall as he was.
They all could see the edge of the blade where some rock or flint had
sharpened the metal until it shone brilliant silver against the dull gray
surface of the rest of the blade.  With amazing speed and strength he
brought the machete up over his head, reaching up and adding his left hand
to the grip and brought it in a sweeping arch in Simmons direction.



   The chunky farm boy's frozen stance did not change and for some reason
he tipped his head back as if by chance the tip of the blade may miss him
by using this deft maneuver.  Unfortunately for the slow-witted farm boy
the action only managed to open the very target the old man was aiming for.
Suddenly the blade connected with the five foot six inch man's neck and
there was a brief spurt of very red blood spraying in a semi-circle.



   Almost in slow motion the machete completed its arc, the head on the
Marine's neck separated and fell drifting slowly toward the red chalk of
the farmyard as another spurt of arterial blood erupted from the headless
neck cavity in a four-foot plume of a coral fountain into the warm jungle
air.



   The next move was almost as catastrophic as the beheading of the young
grunt.  The old man made a second swing of the machete as if unsure the
headless body would not harm him and the girl he was protecting but this
time the sharp edge cut across the center of the radio Baby Huey was
carrying on his back as his lifeless body spun in a ninety degree turn.



   At almost the instant the machete hit the young man's radio the
scattergun cradled under Swazy's right arm erupted in two swift blasts of
double ought buck shot.  The first burst caught the old man high up in his
left shoulder spinning his small body around ninety degrees where the
second burst caught him in the middle of the small body.



   The black pajama top billowed out from the back of the man's shirt, the
buck tearing through the thin side of the bony farmer and erupted in huge
gouts of flesh and blood.  Literally he was cut in two, his body crumpling
towards the same red earth the young Marine lay dead on, the life escaping
his pale lips before the dead weight of useless flesh settled to ground.



   The young girl came out of the hooch just as the old man crumpled
lifeless to the ground.  She screamed "Grandpa" in Vietnamese and rushed
towards the fallen body just as three more figures came out of the same
hooch.  A wiry little woman cradled a rifle up to her shoulders and brought
it to bear towards young Swazy.



   "Take her out," Jim yelled jerking his Colt .45 up to bear on the hooch
but the line of infantry men were well ahead of him letting a deadly
fusillade of M-16 rounds zipping in the trio's direction.  He watched in
horror as the old woman fell followed by the two kids with her.  The young
girl fell to the dirt screaming, the tears making muddy tracks down her
olive skinned face as she picked the old man's head up into her lap and
wept calling his name again and again.



   "Sheet," Martinez muttered rising from the ground and covering the
distance to where the headless Marine lay.  He quickly picked up the
automatic rifle checking to ensure it was on full auto and tossing his M-16
towards an approaching pale-faced Hutch.



   The young Marine looked shell shocked muttering, "What 'da fuck we gonna
do 'Tinez, what 'da fuck we gonna do?"



   "Shut your yap," Martinez snapped and Jim decided them and there if they
ever got out of this shit hole they were now in, Martinez was going to get
Sergeant strips if he had anything to do with it.  "This ain't no surfing
contest dude, haul your buns over there and check out those other hooches
with Swazy."



   The two men went into the group of huts and pushed through the flap
leading inside yelling as they entered.  In a matter of seconds groups of
black and white clad villagers came out.  The adults were all old, long
past inscription age even for the hard pressed VC and the others were all
children ranging in age from breast-feeding babies to preteens.  Anyone
over twelve were off fighting somewhere or being used by the Viet Cong and
NVA as slaves and prostitutes.  Make the men fight or see their women and
kids heads chopped off, which was a big incentive.



   Hutch came up and rattled off some questions.  He was their only
translator having spent two months in school studying the Vietnamese
language and also learning the Hmong language.  He glanced back at Jim as
the officer walked up.



   "Can't understand it all but these here said they are Hmong down from
the mountain.  Seems the little girl says the old man though we were
returning NVA bent on killing and torturing the rest of the village. 
They'd already hauled off the young men for forced labor camps."



   "Shit," Jim spat a wad of Redman in the dust at the old man's feet,
"don't they know a frigging U.S.  Marine when they see one?"



   Hutch shrugged, no answer apparent.  A terrible thing had just occurred
simply over the lack of understanding of two cultures and a military
uniform.  The girl spoke angrily at Bently who sheepishly hung his head.



   "What'd she say?" Martinez asked.



   "The old man was almost blind, he could not even tell who the man
approaching was or he would not have swung the machete."



   "Crap sandwich," Jim spat again.  "Now doesn't that just take the cake?
I got a dumb hillbilly walking up with an automatic weapon who lets a blind
man chop off his head with a machete.  Don't get anymore SNAFU than that
now does it?"



   Martinez shook his head, dropping into a crouch next to the group of
villagers as they huddled in the middle of the village huts, their faces
white with fear as they smelled the blood of their dead kin and villagers.



   "What now L.T.?" he asked looking at the young officer.



   Jim squatted next to him and shook his head, the sweat making a fine mit
off his bare head, his helmet hanging loosely in his left hand as he let
the nicotine from the chewing tobacco calm his frazzled nerves.



   "We need these people to help us pinpoint that NVA army unit in the
hills.  If someone can turn this royal fuck up from a negative to a
positive I'll all ears."



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   They set up sentries after they buried the five bodies, the girl still
weeping at the loss of her grandparents.  In halting speech Hutch learned
the girl's mother and two older sisters had been taken to the caves to
service the NVA military brass entrenched there.



   "Tell her if we are successful we can probably get her mother and
sisters back alive."



   The girl listened but just shook her head in the negative very
emphatically.



   "She doesn't believe it L.T.  Thinks we're conning her, I think.  We're
going to be hard pressed to make these people give a shit what we want
after killing those four."



   "Those four?  What the fuck about Simmons, doesn't he count?  The old
man murdered him in cold blood with no provocation.  Fuck it, I can't
reason this shit out.  I wish Gunney was here, maybe he could make some
sense of it."



   "Do you think we could repair the RT?"



   "Hell no," Jim said, "even if we could we'd blow our position.  Those
Regulars have enough electronics on that ridge to trace a mosquito farting
fifty miles out.  How do you think they triangulated our approach so
quickly?"



   "Yea, sure but what is our next move.  We got this fucked up situation
and all.  Our guys are in deep guano back in the valley so we've got to do
something."



   "Let's see if we can swing the girl into giving us the location of the
NVA caves and a possible entrance to them."



   "That's a long shot," Martinez said glumly sitting on his haunches and
drawing a circle in the village dust with a long stick.



   "It's about the only shot we've got right now, 'Nez, go fetch her and
Hutch."



   +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   The three Marines squatted in a semicircle in front of the little girl.
Trying to talk in calm voices as they instructed Hutch on what to say.  The
young Hmong girl also squatted in the dust Asian style, her small buttocks
rested and inch or two above the village dust, the flesh pulled tight
against the thin fabric of the black pajama pants she wore.  A thin white
cotton blouse did nothing to hide the emaciated frame beneath, the rubbery
bumps of her nipple protruding against the almost transparent cloth.  Jim's
tried to avoid looking at her small butt and dark nips but he couldn't help
himself and when he was caught by the steely gaze of the child he found
himself blushing.



   Shit, she's just a goddamn kid, he thought as he looked towards the
Marine interpreter as he tried to explain what the group wanted.  But his
eyes strayed back to the thin cotton covering where he knew her small slit
resided.  Sure enough, he could make out the small indentation of her
pudenda sharply outlined and the crease going lower barely concealed the
small anal mouth hidden there.



   Jim thought about how long ago it'd been since he'd had sex with Linda
Sue.  He'd told Gunny there were high school sweethearts, slightly
embarrassed to admit their four-year age difference.  When Jim was
finishing college, his sweetheart had been a senior in high school so they
had never actually attending school together.  But four years wasn't much
once you got all growed up, it was just a big thing when you were in
college dating a young high schooler.



   Jim remembered he was about to ship out to 'Nam when she'd flown out to
San Diego and took a train up to Pendleton.  They'd spent a weekend wrapped
in each other's arms having the hottest sex he'd ever had.  He especially
remembered that night when after fucking her for a full hour, his stiff
prick refusing to go down, she'd rolled over and spread the tight cheeks of
her ass, exposing the forbidden pucker hidden there.



   "I want to try it this way," she'd whispered her face all flushed and
sweaty.



   "I don't want to hurt you baby and it will hurt a lot."



   "No, I want you to hurt me.  I want the pain to remind me daily of the
sacrifice you're making and I want to remember that pain every time I look
at your picture and think about how much joy that big cock of yours brought
me."



   Jim realized his cock was erecting with the thoughts of anal sex on that
night and the nearness of the small child almost naked.  This was not going
well, the death of her grandparents robbing her of the only support she had
in the village.  She was an orphan, she explained so rapidly that Hutch had
to make her repeat the words several times to get all their full meaning,
and as an orphan she was at the mercy of the remaining tribal elders, three
old men huddled in the lee of a pig pen guarded by the remaining two
Marines.



   These ancient and venerable men had decided to barter with the NVA for
two weeks supply of rice in exchange for the young and innocent body of the
girl.  Tit for tat so to speak.  An innocent pillow girl for food.  The
tribe was that desperate, drawn to the most primitive measures by
starvation.  No one was left to argue in her behalf.  Her grandfather had
been the village elder, the leading voice of the people remaining but he
had rankled some of the Hmong elders left.  Therefore with his passing they
felt little guilt in tossing this innocent girl to the wolves to appease
the NVA soldiers.  Their only worry was what action the white soldiers
would take if they found out about their plan.



   "What's her name Hutch?"



   "Ang Mai, she nine years old.  Her sisters were taken, ages twelve and
fourteen along with her mother and her aunt and her three daughters. 
They're all up in the caves being 'comfort' women to the troops.  I guess
that means they're banging their asses off.  She's still pissed at us but
even more pissed at the village guys for wanting to give her up.  She wants
to kill herself."



   "Ask her if she would show us the entrance to the caves?  Tell her we
think we can get her mother an sisters out of there."



   "Yea, I tried that but she's not buying it.  The caves are deep and well
guarded with mines and booby traps along all entrance routes.  Only the
soldiers on duty there know the safe route in and out, otherwise it's sure
death to try and get in."



   "Just fuckin' great," Martinez mumbled under his breath, "just like I
said, all fucked up L.T."



   "Hold on Andy, let's work this all the way through before we pitch in
the towel.  O.K., if they turn the girl over what's the drill?"



   Hutch spoke to the girl and listened intently and then nodded his head.
"They send an elder to a certain point in the jungle and he uses a radio
telephone to tell the NVA they want to palaver.  The guy waits at the
rendezvous until he meets one of the NVA guys who lead him into back the
caves and he talks.  They'll send someone back to the village to pick-up
the kid and once the girl is inside they'll lead the elder back through the
mine field to the rendezvous."



   "They've got the radio telephone in the cave or down here now?"



   "No, it's at a point at the beginning of the mine field but it is under
observation by the guys at the cave mouth on a ridge.  Now ay you can just
walk up and use it," Hutch said.



   "That do us any good?" Martinez asked.



   "Maybe," Jim thought slowly tilting his head a she added a chaw of
tobacco to his cheek.  Suddenly the girl's pale yellow arm shot out, her
small palm open out towards the young Marine officer.



   "Shit L.T., she wants a chaw," Hutch said.



   Jim knew young children of the Hmong were introduced to tobacco and
weeds containing both narcotic and hallucinogenic properties at a very
early age.  This had been covered in his Intel briefings at NaTrang and
Danang.  It still surprised him though to see the small child wanting the
tobacco but this was a bonding moment he didn't dare pass up.



   "Sure Ang Mai," he said tearing off a small chaw and passing it over. 
The girl's slim fingers grabbed the brown plug greedily and rushed it to
the small mouth where it was rapidly deposited into her cheek.  She looked
like a kid with a case of the mumps on one side only.  The men grinned as
the small eyes lit up at the rush of nicotine overwhelmed the small
undernourished body.  The glint in her eyes told them she was on rush.



   She rattled off a string of words at Hutch who grinned and turned to the
officer.  "She wants to know if we have any booze.  Apparently when the
younger men were here they connected with some Green Berets who left them a
case of whiskey and the kids all got a sample.  Apparently these hill
tribes have no reluctance about giving booze and drugs to minors."



   "Different world here Hutch.  Kinda primitive.  Tell her we're sorry,
fresh out."



   The interpreter replied and then his face turned red and he hung his
head.



   "What...  what did she say?"



   "She fuckin' said if we take her out of here before they turn her over
to the freakin' gooks up there she'll fucky fucky all of us."



   Jim looked at her closely, his eyes watching the young face as she
smiled at him, begging him with that beguiling look to consider her young
body laid out for their pleasure if they wanted.



   "Has she had sex before?" Jim asked.



   A brief exchange and then Hutch turned.



   No, not yet but she knows all about it.  Apparently the NVA came in and
raped her mother, sisters and an aunt right in front of her.  They made her
do some things like suck their cocks after they'd cum in her mother 's cunt
and ass but they didn't fuck her, saying they'd be back for her later when
these got to be too fucked out to be any good.  She's scared shitless of
what they will do to her in there caves."



   Jim spat a wad of brown juice into the dust.  Jim turned towards
Martinez.  "Here's a plan.  We trail the village elder to the pick up spot
and wait for the guide to take him in.  We mark the trail visually as best
we can without being observed.  When they pick up the girl we give her
something to mark the trail with.  I'm open for suggestions.  Once inside
we move quickly and enter the caves and see if we can get the hostages out
while locating their ammo dump.  If we can grab a radio to bring down an
Arc Light, that's a major bonus.  We've brought enough C-4 to light up the
dump and put a severe crimp in cave life under there."



   "Well gee whiz L.T.  that's a swell plan the only question is where do
we find the blue long johns with the big red Superman "S" on the front for
each of us?" Martinez said with a frown and an incredulous look on his
face.



   "Shit 'Nez, I said I was open for suggestions and I'm still listening. I
know this sounds like a far-fetched idea for the five of us to handle but
our small size and surprise might be enough.  We'll chance a brief message
to Gunney to launch an attack fifteen minutes before we enter the caves if
we get the RT.  That should draw them out and give us our hole shot.  Let's
make it work."



   "If you say so L.T.," Martinez said glumly picking up his rifle and
patting the young girl on her small head as she chewed the brown tobacco
fervently.



   +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   They huddled in the jungle undergrowth, the filtered sunlight casting
the thick foliage into ever-present darkness.  Two light green uniformed
soldiers of the NVA had led the old man inside.  There had been no way to
get to the radio he had used without being seen, that much was evident. 
Worse, the guards had collected the radio and taken it back inside the cave
with them.



   An hour passed before the same two came out and picked up the small girl
waiting at the rendezvous in the small clearing.  They placed a burlap sack
over her head and tied her hands behind her, a trick Jim had already
reasoned they might try.  The girl quickly located the sack of rice grains
from the under band of her black pajama's and as she was led behind the two
men through the minefield she dropped a continuous trail of the white
grains.



   "That good enough?" Jim asked Martinez.



   "Sheet, better than flares L.T.  Kid fucking-A came through, won't lose
that trail," the guide said grinning.



   The five Marines moved into the trail watching the man's feet directly
ahead stepping on the others footprints as best they could.  Suddenly the
white trail stopped and Martinez held up in his palm-signaling stop.



   "What's the matter?" Jim asked closing the gap between the two men.



   "Rice is gone."



   "Shit, she shouldn't have run out this quick, can you tell what
happened?"



   Martinez squatted and looked at the footprints.  "They picked her up,
carried her from here.  She probably couldn't get to the rice bag."



   "Why?"



   "Can't say.  Maybe we're close.  Stay here, I'll look." He left the
others and moved off taking gingerly steps in the soft earth.



   Jim and the others waited nervously, those who smoked wishing the
smoking lamp was lighted.  Jim fingered his chaw but didn't want to chew
while the men went smokeless.  Besides, he didn't know how good the Gooks
were in detecting white man's habits but he'd heard something from
instructors back at survival school about smelling white men in the brush
but he wasn't sure if this was just some outlandish claim.



   Martinez came back up in a rush.  "We are close, I can hear them in the
cave talking a whole pile of shit.  Need for all of us to get closer so we
can scope out what's going on."



   "Right, Hutch can give us a clue maybe." Jim picked up his map and made
a few more marks.  I think the cave mouth is here right down from the crest
of this ridge.  If I get it, one of you guys has got to get this info back
to CP at any costs, got it?"



   The men nodded silently not wishing to even consider how far they'd be
up the creek without L.T., a major consideration to the junior officer. 
Hutch moved to a point alongside Martinez and they approached the cave
mouth, confident the minefield had ended where the young girl had been
pickled up.



   Martinez gave the stop and silent sign as Hutch and he crouched near a
large clump of bushes a few feet up the side of a ridge.  The men further
back could distinctly hear the chatter of voices.  They remained crouched,
listening and waiting.  Action they could handle but the hurry up and wait
stuff drove them crazy.



   "Well?" Jim asked as the translator came scurrying back.



   "They're all heated up about the kid, apparently she is to be the new
addition to their little cave whore house and the troops are playing some
kind of gambling game inside to determine the order of battle.  These guys
are arguing whether they should abandon their posts and join the fun.  I
think the votes are going our way, only one guy says he will guard the
entrance and not disgrace the honor of his wife and marriage.  That line
got a good howl from the other guys."



   "How many were guarding the entrance?"



   "Six, that's all we counted from where we were but I'm sure they weren't
any more," Martinez said squatting next to the officer and drawing a map in
the dirt.



   "And the radio?"



   Martinez shook his head.  "Here is the mouth behind those big bushes. 
It curves downward immediately and to the right along the ridge.  Looking
at the length of that ridge line on the map I think there is at least
another exit down here," and his finger traced a line along the ridge and
the creek they had transversed to a point a few clicks from where the
troops were being held down.  The sporadic sounds of small arms along with
automatic weapons and mortars had convinced them there was till a fighting
force alive in the valley below.



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   Lieutenant Jim Graceland had never given much thought to the manner nor
the timing of his death.  Jim, as many a combat hardened soldier quickly
learned, knew thinking about dying was a sure prescription for being suited
for a body bag and being dumped into the back of a helo during a quick dust
off.  Gunny had tried to indoctrinate the young recruits arriving about the
necessary mind set that might, and that was a big might, put them on one of
those big jet planes headed back to the World.  The land of round eyes
where they didn't have to worry every minute of the day and night that this
be their last breath on the green planet.



   Moving closer to the cave mouth Martinez and Swazy took a position so
close to the two remaining guards they could smell the odor of the
Vietnamese diet they subsisted on which varied between rice, rice and more
rice sprinkled with dried fish heads if lucky.  The others had moved into
the cave chatting loudly about the upcoming party with the village girl. 
Martinez pulled his knife from his sheath and indicated Swazy should do
likely.  The urban youth grinned at the chance to take out an enemy in
close combat, a chance to redeem some of the lives of his buddies like
Jersey and Stretch.  Especially Jersey, a homeboy from Trenton near his own
hometown.



   Along the first part of the cave wall the ground sloped upwards at a
sharp angle, the light from the opening dimmed by the heavy brush.  The two
soldiers slid against the cool rocks feeling their way by touch more than
sight.  The smell of cheap tobacco wafted towards them, their progress made
slow by the need to avoid detection at all costs.  Neither man understood
the words being spoken in soft terms but the nature of conversation was
extremely clear; extreme unhappiness at being left alone while the others
enjoyed the youthful innocence of the village girl.



   The few feet traveled seemed like an eternity until they rounded a sharp
curve and found the men squatted by a small fire, a metal pot over the
glowing coals as they smoked and chatted.  No way to take them unawares,
the guide signaled and both men leaped at once onto the men.  Surprised
faces turned upwards as the shadows erupted into the camouflaged faces of
the soldiers; knives quickly sliding across tilted back throats as strong
hands covered their mouths to contain any unwanted cries.



   Within seconds it was over, the smell of fresh blood filling the small
cave area, the two guards dead.  Quickly they dragged the bodies out of the
cave and into some scrub brush nearby as the other men entered and began to
slowly move forward.  These men had killed before but this was the first
time at such close range, the smell and the feel of warm blood spilling
over their trembling hands.  Not like the training at boot where the
opponent was a fellow grunt, the knife across the throat a rubber one.



   "What now?" Martinez whispered to Jim, hoping the L.T.  had a solution
different than the one forming in his own mind, a place he didn't really
want to go.



   The officer hesitated and then knelt in the cool interior of the cave.
"We recon the cave, trying to avoid contact.  Our best bet is to try and
find any ammo supplies or inflammables we might set off."



   The men nodded not speaking.  The cave interior smelt of death, either
theirs or others, not an odor that inspired confidence.



   "This is bullshit L.T.," the blonde translator spoke up much too loudly.
Martinez quickly reached out and grasped the kid by the forearm, his strong
grip causing the young solider to gasp in pain and attempt to withdraw his
arm.



   "Cool it Hutch," he whispered, "we don't have a lot of choices so let's
just play the hand we've been dealt."



   Hutchison pulled his arm away rubbing it and glared angrily at the
Hispanic tracker and lead guide, not liking the treatment he'd been
afforded in front of his buddies especially by someone he felt was
definitely below his status in life.  Crap from an Eastside Barrio Banger
was almost more than he could take at the moment but he was unsure just how
far to push the issue at present.  Maybe later when the odds improved or
worse, got more desperate.  Shit, and him a fuckin' short timer in 'Nam
compared to the rest, just three months left to go and back to the World
and that bevy of surfer groupie roundeyes he'd never been lacking in his
previous life.  Back to his real life, not this shithole existence here in
these green hills of Hell.



   "Move out," Jim ordered and the men moved deeper into the cave, the rock
floor and walls descending at a gentle slope.  They moved cautiously, the
damp on the floor making the footing not solid, a disadvantage if they
suddenly had to react to troops ahead.



   Martinez drew up and held his palm flat up, signaling a halt and then
silence, the second part not necessary to any of the men behind him at the
moment.  Sound was the last thing any of the men wanted to make at the
moment but quickly sounds could be heard.  The cave walls suddenly
reverberated with loud laughter and it was apparent a group of men were
having a small party up ahead.



   "Hutch, what's up?" Jim asked.  The blonde translator slipped to the
front of the line and cocked his head to one side, listening to the
rapid-fire sounds of the NVA language.



   "They want to gamble to decide who gets the first crack at the little
Hmong kid.  Apparently they haven't touched her yet."



   Shit, thought Jim, what to do now?  If I leave these assholes to have
their fun with the kid we may be able to sneak around them and get to the
dump.  Can I really leave a defenseless little girl to be raped and
tortured by this bunch?



   "Nez, slip further in and see if there is room to get around these guys
and what's the lay of the land," Jim whispered into the guide's ear.



   Martinez barely nodded and began to crawl along the cave floor, the cold
rock and wetness quickly soaking through his already filthy fatigues and
bringing bone-chilling pain to his body.  Rounding a declining curve he saw
light up ahead.  Lanterns had been slung on a wire along the cave roof, the
light coming from a generator somewhere deeper in the cave.  The girl was
huddled back against the wall to the left, a shaking bundle of tattered
rags barely identifiable.



   Ten men were clustered around a big metal stove where a kettle of
something hot percolated.  Probably some type of root stew with a few fish
heads thrown in for flavor, a rare treat for the troop in the field.  They
usually had to subsist on a meager rice ball and some hard salt dried fish.
They were also passing around several large bottles of what appeared to be
beer, another very unusual treat.  Apparently this group was being granted
some minor cave R & R, rewarded with booze and the kid for exemplary
fighting.  What really lit up the Hispanic youth's dark eyes was the radio
in the corner closest to the right hand wall.



   "Sorry," he signed and the held up ten fingers.  A whisper at this point
was as good as a shout.



   Jim scratched "RADIO?" in the sand.



   He watched the news hit his officer's face, the balancing of need for
the radio against the element of surprise.  Jim bent over and scratched
again with his knife in the film of sand on the cave floor covering the
cold rock.



   "AMMO TO BLOW?"



   "Nez shook his head.



   Five against ten but the men drinking were not exactly combat ready and
the Marines had the element of surprise.



   "WAIT," he scratched in the sand.  That was a dangerous option, anyone
entering the cave or discovering the missing guards would immediately raise
an alarm.  They withdrew away from the lights and voices so they could
palaver.



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   "We've only got two shots.  Knock these guys out and get the radio and
order an Arc Light on our grid while trying to find some flammables to set
off to further mark the spot.  Swazy, you got the satchel charges right?"



   "Sure thing L.T., been packing them all the way.  You just point to the
spot you want them."



   "Roger.  We'll slip back down there in a few secs, just get some rest.
If they start on the kid before we get back there that's really tough but
beyond our control, get it?"



   The men nodded, not liking the idea of what was about to happen to the
Hmong girl but knowing their only chances of saving their fellow troops
penned down in the valley was to succeed in this adventure.



   "We should have time to Evac the caves unless an Arc Light is already on
the way and they can divert the B-52's." The flight from Guam at even
supersonic speed took some time to reach the targets in 'Nam.



   "That might give us very little time to get the Hell outta Dodge by way
of this exit or the one over here," he said pointing to a turn in the ridge
on the map.  "Maybe a click or under through the cave, I'd guess."



   Again a nod of heads without speaking and then the men settled into a
light rest, guns at the ready trying to put the thoughts they may be
minutes away from death out of their minds.



   Combat trained troops learned early in warfare the best approach to
handling the uncertainty of combat was to take the position they had
already forfeited their lives for their country.  Not that they went out of
their way to look for their mortality, it simply aided the thought
processes to think in terms of making the ultimate sacrifice somewhere
along the line before the hostilities ended.



   Too many of their comrades had fallen while being obsessed with the
thoughts they were almost free of danger, their one-year tour almost over.
It was almost like the Grim Reaper was looking over their shoulder
chuckling to himself, waiting for that optimum moment to jump out and yell
"Surprise" as he swung that deadly sickle.



   Gunny had taught Jim this lesson early on in their pairing and although
the Texan thought about his love one back home often, he never let himself
be drawn into thoughts he had to make it back to seal that love.  He and
the sergeant had exchanged letters to be given to their love ones if
something happened, not in anticipation but just in case.  It was a strange
path they walked, these warrior soldiers, treading Occam's Razor on a daily
basis each day they spent in the "Nam.



   Martinez touched Jim lightly on the shoulder bringing the officer
immediately awake from his light slumber.



   "They're pretty wired, L.T.  you better come with me, they've decided
who's gonna fuck the kid and they're about to do it," he whispered.



   "Hold here, I'm going forward with "Nez so sit tight." Jim rose slowly,
pulling his aching body up slowly trying to get the blood back into limbs
long pushed past the point of human endurance.



   The men nodded as the two started off at a fast scuttle along the cave
wall.  Within minutes they were at the curve in the cave and heard the
excited chatter around the bend.



   "Maybe we should have brought Hutch," Martinez whispered.



   Jim motioned quiet and slid on his belly until he could peer around the
corner.  Two men were pulling the girl closer to the light of the fire
while the rest drunkenly urged them on, their cocks jutting from the slit
in their trousers, dirty hands jerking them excitedly.



   The two working on the little girl were going about it methodically, one
stripping off her top while the other her bottoms.  Her small brown legs
were bare, the pants flung into a corner, no panties to hide the narrow
slit of her sex.  Excited laughter at the site of the young sex lips and
the man who was between her legs flung himself down apparently at the
urging of the onlookers and locked his lips on the small cuntal mouth.



   Ang Mai yelled as she felt the man's mature mouth on her sex, apparently
his rigid tongue probing apart the young lips.  Up above the second man had
freed his own erection from his pants, a slim dagger of about six rigid
inches, a minor replica of the two Marine's cocks pushing against their
jungle fatigues.



   "Damn, that's hot," Martinez breathed in Jim's ear, unable to tune out
the erotic rape of the child in front of him.



   "Shit yea," Jim breathed, reaching down and moving his rigid hard on to
a more comfortable position.  He wished he had enough nerve to follow the
onlookers of the rape and whack his cock off but he didn't think that was a
position a Marine officer should be caught in.



   The man pushed her flat, climbing over her small chest and pushing his
stiffie against her lips.  She turned her head away and spat up at him, the
wad of spittle landing on her small chest.  He slapped her across the face
once, twice and then three times very hard, each blow enough to bring blood
to the mouth of the child and make her head swim in pain.  As she lay there
dazed she felt him probing her mouth once again and she opened obediently,
trying to avoid any more blows and the incredible pain she felt from them.



   The man on top grunted as the small mouth gave him oral comfort, the
little lips sucking on the hard piece of flesh almost instinctively,
possibly having had good lessons during the rape of her family.  Below the
second man raised his mouth from the wet loins of the girl, dropping
between her slim thighs after pushing them apart with his wiry hands.  He
fumbled briefly as the crowd cheered him to stick it in apparently and then
a sharp cry as the kid jerked her mouth off the upright flesh root and
announced the ends to her virginity.



   The man's hard muscled ass beat a rapid tattoo as he fucked into the
bleeding slit, the girl's mouth now full from the man at the top who had
jerked her mouth back onto his cock.



   Jim motioned for "Nez to slip back with him down the cave tunnel.



   "This si our best chance, those guys are all with their pants down and
in no mood to fight a surprise attack off."



   "What about the kid, she's in the crossfire?"



   "Can't help it, she's dogshit if we don't move soon anyway."



   They scurried back to the waiting men.



   "Move 'em out," Jim whispered.



   "And the kid?" Hutch asked.



   "Still alive, they've got two guys taking her on while the rest watch. I
say let's take them all out now while we can.  Use the grenade launcher and
the scatter gun and we'll pick off the rest."



   "Keep the grenade away from the kid if you can but the RT at all costs."



   "Roger that."



   They moved off, each man checking his combat readiness knowing in the
next few moments all Hell was about to break loose and their only chance
was to act as a single unit, each making sure their buddy was protected.



   Much too quickly they were back to their previous position, the light
spilling around the sharp bend, the voices even more raucous as the alcohol
worked it's magic.



   Swazy moved to the forward with the grenade poised to fire.  He stepped
into the circle of light quickly picking out his target.  Seven men were
huddled in around the girl intent on the action.  One man was near the
kettle and stove, an almost empty beer bottle in his hand, his heads
lolling on his shoulders and his apparently spent cock back in his black
pajamas.



   The grenade launcher flared and the men jerked up just in time to
realize they were under attack and then the cavern erupted in flames, smoke
and deafening sound as the Marines ducked back away from the blast
momentarily.  Quickly the remaining men rounded the corner and began firing
including Swazy with the scattergun.



   The man raping the child had shielded her body from the grenade
fragments, his body peppered with shards of the blazing hot metal.  The
second man bent over her getting head was not quite so lucky.  The blast of
the grenade sent several hot shards lancing into the small girl and the
immediate effect was her teeth chomping sown on the rigid cock in her
mouth.



   The small NVA soldier was bleeding badly as he staggered erect, his cock
hanging by several slender shreds of skin as the Marines automatic weapons
put him out of his misery.



   One of the other men near the child reached for her small body but Jim
fired his handgun across the half dozen feet, his aim true and his firing
quick.  The NVA soldier's hand disappeared in a shower of blood and bone
and then his chest erupted in a series of dark circles while the back of
his uniform exploded in large chunks of flesh as the Colt .45 did it's
damage.  Quick as it began it was over, the sounds of gunfire dying leaving
the stonewalls in an eerie silence.  The smell of death and blood quickly
filled the small room as Jim swooped up the kid.



   "Quick, the radio," Jim said to Bentley.  "Swazy, you and "Nez get into
that cave and see if you can find something worth blowing.  If you run into
a shit pot of gooks, don't be heroes, beat feet back here, running a
delaying action on the way."



   "Roger L.T.," the young grunt said starting off at a trot, Swazy
following close behind.  Already Bentley had the radio on, the tubes
glowing as he fought to adjust to the right frequency.



   "Panama, Panama, this is Pistol Six-Five over.  Panama do you read?"



   Immediately a strong voice came over the radio,



   "This is Panama, authenticate Hotel Tango."



   Bentley went to the tattered codebook he had taken from Baby Huey's body
and flipped to the date of the month, the fifteenth.  Looking down at a row
of letters represented by the military equivalency he located both the
letters H and T.



   "Authentication is Romeo Echo," he said, his breath sucking inward as he
waited for an acknowledgement he had used the correct code.



   "Romeo Echo is authenticated, send your traffic," the Microwave station
in the central highlands that connected all of South Vietnam's military
traffic replied.



   "Immediate priority for Arc Light.  Coordinates Hotel 775 by 485. 
Elevation 220 meters.  Target cave complexes extending one hundred meters
deep.  Use appropriate ords, over."



   "Roger Hotel 775 by 485, elevation, 220, one hundred depth.  Be advised
mission in progress can be diverted and be over your coordinates in eight
minutes.  Is area safe for release."



   "Roger new mission diverted.  Drop, drop, drop, priority release
authorized."



   "Roger priority, Panama out."



   "That's it L.T., eight minutes.  We've got to boogey."



   "No, we can't do that.  We can't be sure the Arc Light mission will
reach these bunkers.  Here take the kid," the officer said, handing the
trembling naked nine-year old to the soldier.  "I'm going after the men and
give them a hand.  Get her out of here and let Gunny know of the bombing
attack."



   "What if the NVA intercepted the transmission?"



   "My hope is they did.  If they try and abandon the cave and we flush
them out in the open, Gunny might have a chance of picking them off. 
Either way, the diversion won't hurt.  Get a dust off started.  If this
doesn't work they won't have any other options anyway."



   "Roger, contact Gunny and start a dust off at the new LZ downriver."



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   The Hispanic guide and the explosive expert moved quickly along the cave
wall, listening more than seeing much.  Most of the cave was dark, the
electric wires empty and bare, saving the generator in non-essential areas.
Surely the noises of the gunfire and explosion had rousted someone and
alerted them to the presence of intruders into the cave.  Yet, as they
moved further and further along the cave wall and it dipped lower and
lower, they realized the distance could very well mask the disturbance they
had made.



   Finally the pitch of the floor reached such a sharp decline they were
forced to hold onto a metal handrail alongside the cave wall put in place
for just this purpose and then they saw light and heard more voices.



   Peering around a corner Martinez made out several dozen regulars in cots
and on the floor on straw tic mats in a large dorm room built big enough to
house close to fifty or more troops.  They lounged in their shorts and
briefs, some sipping from metal cups and almost all of them smoking.  The
whir of a ventilator fan could be herd and the strong smell of cheap
cigarette smoke filled the room even as the lazy trail of white seeking the
fan moved towards the cave roof.  Apparently that went all the way to the
top to spill out into the open apparently in a safe zone where other troops
were.



   "What's the coordinates right here?" "'Nez asked unfolding the map and
using the available light.



   "Hotel 815 by 492," his companion whispered.



   "Go back, tell Bentley to make the drop on these coordinates.  That
should penetrate down to here and set off some nice secondaries."



   "What about you?"



   "Give me the satchel charges, I'll see what I can do."



   "You can't get around those guys."



   "No, but I can go through them.  Hey bud, do you think two of us stand
any better chance than just one against all those guys.  Now get out of
here, let me do my job."



   Swazy handed him the pack and reached out, his hand grasping his friend
briefly as he whispered, "You're one straight up dude, bro," and then he
was gone back the way they had come.



   Martinez pulled the Saint Christopher medal strung with his dog tags. 
The bunch was taped together with duct tape to keep them from rattling but
he kissed the masked face of the patron saint anyway and slipped it back
under his gray sweatshirt.  Moving quickly he rounded the corner and let
loose a burst of automatic weapons fire, rapidly clearing the bunker room
and down the corridor, tossing a pair of grenades behind him.



   Running hard he felt a sudden sting like a wasp at his shoulder and then
the pain flared as he fumbled with the pack, glancing down at the timer and
setting it for five seconds and then he was at a primitive elevator going
up the cave roof made of a metal cage and some cables and a generator at
the base.  In an offshoot to the left he saw RPG's and automatic weapons
stacked against a wall along with boxes of grenades and then another
stinging blow, this time high up on his back near his right shoulder blade
and a pain like nothing he'd ever felt hit him.



   The satchel dropped to the ground and he fell also, his body quickly
growing numb as he glanced back and saw a dozen men rushing down the cave
corridor firing at his prostrate body.  More wasp stings but they were less
painful now but he suddenly found the strength to grasp the satchel, push
the switch to start the timer and heave the bag towards the opening in the
cave wall.



   A small smile lit his face as he saw the gray bundle land next to the
boxes of grenades and then more bullets hit him and he felt the life ebbing
out of his bleeding body but not before he saw the terrified faces of the
NVA when they saw what he had thrown into the ammo supply room.  One brave
soul rushed into the room past Martinez and reached for the satchel but
just as he did the timer reached zero and the entire cave began to erupt in
a series of violent explosions.



   +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   Lieutenant Jim Graceland climbed the last ridge over the valley where
they had left Gunny and their comrades to hold off the entrenched NVA
forces on the hill top ridges.  Jim had felt the explosions set off by the
brave scout, turning back and within minutes of all of them exiting the
cave the B-52's had come in, adding their heavy bomb loads to the point on
the cave where the coordinates had been relayed at the last minute.



   Only two planes made surgical drops, already being warned of friendlies
in the area but the blasts were still strong enough to pick Jim, the girl
and the remaining three men off the ground and fling them about.  All of
them had been deaf for hours after the blasts, fearing the loss of hearing
was permanent until slowly, one by one, their hearing returned.



   Jim looked down and saw Gunny below giving directions to the offloading
Marines as they stepped from the relief helos.  He grinned and hugged the
frail girls hips in his arms as he looked at her.  A half smile lit her
face, tribute to the recognition of the effort the brave soldiers had made
to rescue her.  Jim had been adamant in not returning her to a village that
had sacrificed her life for a few bags of rice.  He was going to fight to
see if he could get her sent to the states where she could live with his
parents in Texas until his tour ended in less than four months.



   Martinez would go in for the Medal and if any grunt deserved it in 'Nam
it was the brave scout who had given his life for his fellow man.  Jim
wasn't sure what lay in store for him or if his tour would be completed
successfully but he'd taken a big step in that direction by surviving these
green hills of Hell.



   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



   The End Copyright (c) 2004, Dark Tower Gunslinger.  ALL Rights Reserved

   =======================

   This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.



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