[Life In Vietnam - Inspired by the film Platoon]
The wind slammed against me as I jumped out of the helicopter. Someone was shouting at me, his face red and agressive,
but his words inaudible under the roar of propellers. I yelled back. "What?"
He signalled with his hands to go to him. In a quick reaction, I jogged over to him in my green unfiorm. I held my hat
down hard as the wind bashed against it. There was about 20 of us in total, all in the same green, plain uniform.
The same black combat boots. The group of us marched down the air strip, we noticed the small vehicle with the trailers on.
The trailers were filled up with black bags. Oh my lord... I thought. The bodies of people who gave their life fighting
for their country. I swore violentely under my breathe. Those Vietcongs, there's gonna' be hell when i'm there..
Not much happened in the helicopter trip to our basecamp. Our sergeant ripped on us with insults.
But all we could do was nod and say yes sir. We were oblivious to our cockiness and believed we were invincible warriors
going into battle against weak enemies who would cower below us and our mighty weapons. But I was wrong. We were wrong.
5 Days passed an all i've done is dug damned holes, and barricaded them with sandbags. The work is hard. I'm usually staying
up every night on watch duty. My routa is long and painful. I get 4-5 hours sleep in the nights.
War, it's not what I expected. My thoughts were interrupted by shouting and a ciggerette butt being flicked
at me. "Oi, white boy. Dig that hole some more, us boys aint gonna' cover in that are we!" I grunted silentely and dug
more. The hot sun beated on me, drawing more and more sweat. Keith, the coloured man who acted as if he dominated the camp.
I was lent against a pile of sandbags when my sleep was interupted by Sergeant Abranto. "Oi Newbie, up and gear! You're on ambush."
I hammerred my hand off the sandbag and pulled my jacket over me. I gripped my rifle and my kit-bag I caught up with the rest
who just ignored me as I greeted them. Real friendly. Real friendly bunch.
"Newbie, you're on watch. 3 hour routa. Don't pull any damned Zs, or i'll feed you to the congs. We clear?"
"Crystal." I replied.
"Oh, you know how to handle the claymores?" He snapped at me.
"To the best of my mind. Yeah." I replied again.
"Safety off and hit it 3 times. Now get to watch!" He ordered.
I dropped into a patch of grass and scratched my irritating neck. Damn ants.
2 hours passed. 1 More lousy hour, not a single fricking Cong! My eye lids flickered in tiredness.
I felt just like dropping off, without a care in the world. Then. Boom.. Screaming followed the explosion.
Gunfire ripped out into the disruption. The platoon jumped up taking defencive positions.
The congs ran down at us. The whole NVA 144 Platoon. Bullets ripped into ours flanks.
One of our men, Harold yelled out. "LESTERS HIT! WE NEED A MEDIC!" A Cong charged right into our flanks, he held
a grenade with a large pack in the front of his chest.
"BOMB!" Yelled another member. I dived in hope of cover and safety.
I heard the explosion, then felt the heat hit my back. I yelled in the pain. I slowly lost conciousness.
So this is what it's like, when you're gonna' die... I dropped out before I could end the thought.
To be continued I suppose.





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