Direct Conflict

Direct Conflict

By David Kent Layman

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and situations are the product of the author’s imagination and cannot be construed as any recollection of fact. Any semblance to real events is completely accidental, though the events in this book likely played out in a number of romantic situations as in any war scenario.

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Copyright © 2011 by David Kent Layman

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Kathy McKibbin

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Table of Contents

Chapter One – The Dream

Chapter Two – The Teacher, the Mandarin, the Marxist

Chapter Three – The Orphans

Chapter Four – Le’s Disappearance

Chapter Five - Satan’s Grasp

Chapter Six – The Note

Chapter Seven – Meeting the Commander

Chapter Eight – The Reunion

Chapter Nine – Rejuvenation of Life (The Miracle)

Chapter Ten – The Decision

Chapter Eleven – The Escape

Chapter Twelve – The Awakening

Chapter Thirteen – The Plan

Chapter Fourteen – Embellishing the Myth

Chapter Fifteen – An Unintended Admission

Chapter Sixteen – A Very Close Encounter

Chapter Seventeen – Lost in the Jungle

Chapter Eighteen – Seeking Out Le Phoung

Chapter Nineteen – The Will to Survive

Chapter Twenty – A Sudden Discovery

Chapter Twenty One – Satan Visits

Chapter Twenty Two – The Safe Return

Chapter Twenty Three – Direct Contact

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Chapter One – The Dream

The mist arose from the floor of the rain forest, shrouding my view out from the entrance of the church. The fog and mist, the drizzle all seemed to offer a kind of surreal picture for me. It had been a wet, rather chilly night for us out here, much like we were at the very edge of the world, just me and my platoon, here, lying in ambush in the Western Central Highlands of South Vietnam.

We were out in the jungle with little protection except for our artillery bases that would give us some covering fire if we got caught up in some sizable assault by our enemy, the North Vietnamese. And, it had happened before, many times, I’d heard. I was so green, a new Infantry recruit, attached to the 1st Platoon, 2nd Battalion, 2nd Brigade, the 4th Infantry Division. I was one of the FNG’s, fucking new guys. And, they all said it was better to get offed as soon as an FNG got in-country, that way we didn’t put those vets who’d been here a while in harm’s way with our inevitable fucking up! Well, I was going to prove those bastards wrong about this cherry, this FNG. No way was I fucking up, not me, Denton Wunderlin, machine gunner in the United States Army!

So, I felt if we ran into a large force of any kind, well, we were dead meat. I’d heard how those little rat bastards would hit us with an assault, an ambush of their own and by the time we recovered and called in air strikes or an artillery barrage, well then those rat fuckers simply crawled their little rat asses right back in under the ground and escaped. Those little rodent bastards, they hid underground where we could not get at them. And, how could we ever beat them if that was how they were going to fight?

To me, it took me no time, really to figure it out. It seemed like we were a bunch of guys just walking around in the rain forest. We had no chance to win or rarely, I knew, would we ever even find the enemy. This was his turf, his homeland; he knew where to hide, where to lie out, and the best spots to set an ambush or a booby trap. And another thing, he was willing to die for it. And, he had one and only one purpose in his life; to kill us!

I clutched the handle of the 30 caliber machine gun. I had only been in-country now for a few weeks. I stared out into the mist and fog, the drizzle and couldn’t make out a thing. I lamented, sighing, "Fucking shit, they gave me some bullshit two day course once I arrived at Tan Son Nhut Air Base, and wham! What happened? Next thing, they choppered me and a few other grunts right out here into these fucking mountains! Hell, I nearly fainted when I got off the C-130 transport at the air base. The heat and the humidity nearly killed me. And, of course, I had the distinct privilege of seeing quite a few body bags being loaded right onto the plane I had just left! It made me really stop and think; it made me realize that just like that, troops de-barked in-country and some left early, in a manner not of their choosing!

There was no way I was even close to acclimated to this searing heat and humidity, no way! In the daytime, it felt like a thousand degrees. And me, I just had to volunteer for combat, 11 Bravo, Infantry, Vietnam! I mean, I loved hiking out in the woods back home in the mountains of Pennsylvania. I loved backpacking it out into the forest and using my compass to navigate by, go hunting, stalking my prey. Thing was, my prey was a poor, defenseless deer or pheasant. It wasn’t some crazy lunatic slant-eye who would delight in nothing more than slitting my throat!

So, yeah, I was 6’4’’ and 270 pounds. I was going to show all those people back home who said I was off my rocker to volunteer for Vietnam; I was going to show them that I could kick some serious ass. The only ass-kicking I’d done so far was my own! Between the rounds of dysentery, the malaria pills and the heat and humidity keeping me constantly de-hydrated, I was about worthless. And, on top of all that, we never got any sleep! We went out and patrolled or set up our firebase defenses all day and ambushes or listening posts at night! I was supposed to do this shit for the next thirteen months?

So, one of my first all-night ambushes, my platoon was ordered to take up a blocking position along what battalion command had determined was an infiltration route used by the enemy. Thing was, my gunnery partner, Mackintosh, who’d be in-country for over seven months, and knew how to get by, had informed me that the N.V.A. (North Vietnamese Army) and V.C. (South Vietnamese Communists, Charlie, or Viet Cong), had heard us when we choppered into the LZ (landing zone) four klicks (kilometers) out. They simply followed us and waited until we set up for our ambush, then they had our exact location vectored in and could either evade us altogether or set up their own ambush, booby traps or whatever to enliven our little party out there in the bush!

As we approached the infiltration route, our sergeant told us to set up the machine gun right inside the front door of the old, abandoned Catholic Church. That was so we could observe the infiltration route and have some cover.

As we got inside and set the 30 caliber machine gun up, I gazed upwards and saw the Crucifix, just above us. I hoped we wouldn’t have a run-in with the enemy tonight. I felt so fatigued and tired from the total lack of sleep we’d endured. I knew we couldn’t possibly stay awake the whole night. It was physically impossible to endure what the Army expected of you. No one could do it. I couldn’t!

So, here we were, lying prone on the ground, up in these Annamite mountains close to the Cambodian border. I kept wondering, why were we out here? Who cared about any of this? I volunteered for this, I knew, but now that I was here and got a first-hand look at the situation, I knew I’d fucked up. I suppose I should have listened to those back home who told me I was crazy to volunteer for Vietnam. I mean, was I supposed to be fighting for freedom, ten thousand miles from home? The only thing I was fighting was the overwhelming killer urge to lay my head down and get some sleep! I just didn’t know why I was here? Why?

I felt so tired, my eyes felt so heavy. If I could just close my eyes for a few seconds, just a second, my eyes, were feeling so darned heavy, if I could just close them a moment or so, I~~"

I jerked awake and quickly glanced over at Mackintosh. He was still sound asleep. I hadn’t been asleep too long, I didn’t think. I rubbed my eyes and pulled off my helmet. I was so parched and my throat felt tight. I felt tingly, ill-at-ease, a weird, strange feeling coming over me, a very weird sensation sending these odd signals to my brain, as if a kind of early warning system.

I wiped my eyes, attempting to gain a clearer vision. I felt that very different sensation that made my skin crawl and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I had heard around that every once in a great while a grunt somehow quickly developed a kind of sixth sense and, somehow he knew when danger lurked close by. I had no way of knowing if I’d already developed this early warning sensory perception or not.

I quietly sipped some water from my canteen. I gasped and felt a shiver run up my spine. I still had that very strange, odd sensation and it made my skin begin to crawl more now. I lay very, very still. I didn’t hear anything. I waited and turned my head and I gripped the 30 caliber, waiting, my finger closing on the trigger. Something, I don’t know, something told me it was way too quiet Something was definitely going to happen and I was pretty sure it was going to be bad!.

I started to try to reach over and tap Mackintosh when I thought I saw something rise up in the fog and mist not ten or so feet in front of me. I squinted, l listened, and then, I saw something flying through the air. I yelled out, Grenade!

I turned quickly and yanked one of the big, old heavy pews Mackintosh had dragged up to us before we got situated. I yanked it down right on top of us and yelled out, Get down!

There was a loud, thunderous explosion behind us, and then another and all hell broke loose. I waited and pushed the pew back up and over. I yelled to Mackintosh, Get your ass up and feed me! I need ammo!

I opened up with the machine gun and sprayed the whole area out in front of the church. The sound of that weapon was unbelievable; loud, deep and deathly, a very loud, thunderous death machine! I kept at it and I yelled again, Mackintosh, the weapon will jam up. Feed me! Get up! Up, up, up!

I kept shooting and there was firing all around us. Someone blew the claymores out there, deafening roars, loud, crashing explosions more screaming, trip flares going off, deafening blasts, the fog and mist all illuminated, a very eerie scene to me. I couldn’t make anything out. My machine gun had jammed up. Then, I heard some high-pitched screaming out there; someone was hit.

As quickly as it started, it all stopped. After a few moments, I heard the artillery rounds begin to fall in to positions along the infiltration route that had been vectored in the night before. The artillery exploded and it continued to move away from our position.

I was nearly hyperventilating, gasping, and my mouth was so dry I could hardly speak. The sweat poured into my eyes, burning them and making it even that much harder to see. I reached up, wiping my eyes, trying to catch my breath when all I could smell was cordite and burning, smoke. I felt like I was suffocating!

I took a large draw of water from my canteen. I turned and said, Hey, Mackintosh, we kicked some serious ass, fucker. Why didn’t you feed me? The gun jammed up. I think they’re all gone now. It was a good thing you dragged this pew up here, otherwise those grenades would have fucked us up! We’d be history, body bagged outa’ this shit for good!

I took another drag off my canteen, and Mackintosh didn’t move. I slid over and shook him, Hey, dude, I handled those slant-eyed little bastards. Next time though, you better wake your dead ass up and feed me, partner!

I shook Mackintosh again and his helmet rolled away. His helmet was not on his head. Mackintosh had the habit of cradling it when he slept, for some strange reason. As his helmet rolled away I leaned down and gasped; his head was nearly split in half! I jumped back and gagged as I could not avert my eyes, staring at Macintosh’s head, it was, oh no, blood everywhere, as I began to vomit.

I lay back towards the machine gun and peered back out towards the path. I wiped my mouth, then took some water and rinsed out my mouth. I felt sick, my stomach churning, I could not believe it. I mumbled, staring straight out front, You didn’t feed me, Mackintosh. The gun jammed and I couldn’t keep firing. You should’a got your shit together, my man. Why did you not wake up? Why? Why?

I jerked awake from my dream, sweating profusely. Yeah, I was right back there in that old, dilapidated, abandoned Catholic Church! My very first test in combat and I really fucked up! I wiped the sweat from my forehead and eased my way up, trying my best not to disturb Le. I eased up as best I could, trying not to awaken her, my Vietnamese girlfriend. I was shaking uncontrollably, still after more than two years of re-living that terrible nightmare, over and over. I wondered, would it ever leave me?

I gasped, trying to get my bearings. I felt totally disoriented. And, it was still the same, it never changed for me. Mackintosh was still as dead as he was two years ago. He got home alright, with his skull split in two, thanks to me. He’d told me to wake him up, to wake him before I passed out. He had fallen asleep too, but I was the one responsible. Had I awakened him, well, he might have gotten home with his brain intact. But, he knew, see, he knew those gooks could somehow sense just when the time was right for their ambush. They’d been at this shit for hundreds of years. And, Mackintosh, poor guy, just like the rest of us, just trying to cop some Z’s out in the bush; just so tired and so physically exhausted, just a few restful, peaceful minutes, because you were nearly dead with fatigue. Well, he would never, ever wake up again! I totally fucked up, it was my fault! I killed Mackintosh. And now, he was to forever haunt me, I knew.

I sat up and set the pillow behind my head. I needed something to cool me off, but, here in the Mekong Delta, down in the southernmost part of Vietnam, there was no such thing as cooling off. I swore to myself, sick and tired of sweating all the time. It was too hot, too humid and it made me half insane, just like the effect this stinking, rotten country had on me.

I lay there, feeling detached from reality. I knew I was messed up. I hadn’t been home in nearly three years. Here I was, sleeping with this Vietnamese girl, Le Phoung. As a matter of fact, I had re-enlisted and volunteered for a third tour here. Me, Denton Wunderlin, all pumped up, staying in-country, in South Vietnam, to fight for freedom, liberty, and democracy! What a bunch of crap. Anyone who believed that was in serious need of some heavy-duty drugs. Instead, me, the man, I re-upped, only for one reason, only one, to remain here, with Le Phoung, a young, very pretty Vietnamese girl. She was all I knew to be real any more. Nothing else seemed the least bit relevant to me, no one else, I lived to see her, to sleep with her, to feel her gentle, soft caresses, to listen to her soft, gentle voice telling me she loved me. Just coming in out of the bush, feeling like some half-crazed animal, like a wild dog, just in from the hunt, just to see her, well, it was all that mattered to me. There was nothing else that I cared about, not any more.

I slid very quietly out of bed and walked over to the wash basin and rinsed off my face and neck. I grabbed one of Le’s nice, white terry cloth face towels and dabbed my face. I stared at the towel, so white and clean, just like Le. Oh, I knew she was Oriental, but there was no one more beautiful, more pure, more loving, and more caring than her. Did anything else really matter to me?

I dabbed at my face and stared into the old, cracked, stained mirror. I stared and thought to myself, I think I’ve fallen in love with her. She is breathtaking, so fragile-looking, yet, her long dark hair, her thin, long fingers, her many features, she had so many beautiful features that I saw.

I folded the towel and set it back by the wash basin. I turned and at the last second, I halted and held my reflection in the mirror. I knew, yes, I knew I was really in for it. No doubt, at some point the shit was really going to hit the fan. Yeah, here I was, hiding, tempting death to take me, almost wishing it would, tuning off my sixth sense just that one time and allowing those nasty bastards to shred my guts all over Vietnam! It would undoubtedly be the best solution for me, for everyone, yes, including Le.

I’d done the unthinkable, here I was sleeping with Le and I had that same strange tingly sensation that I had out there in the bush when the shit was going to go off and hit the fan.

Yeah, big fucking deal, so I had developed it, that sixth sense that a few here in the Nam had found. My squad relied on my nose, just like a dog when its fur goes on end up on its spine. Oh sure, I was wrong from time-to-time, but more often than not my squad immediately moved to cover and set their safeties on their rifles to rock-and-roll. And, a lot more often than not, the shit did hit the fan, an ambush, and maybe I did save a few guys. It would never make up for Mackintosh, but it helped me to cope when I felt like my brain was exploding outa’ my skull! I stared in the mirror and I had that same creeping, tingly sensation, my body tingling, my palms sweaty. This was an ambush of a totally different kind.

I’d been in so many firefights, I quit counting. I killed a lot of the enemy, many more than most because I was good at my trade, killing! And, we had not lost a man other than a slight wound or some other non-combat related injury. But, no KIA’s (killed in action), not one more when I was squad leader and my squad or platoon was out with me. None, not even a serious wound and many attributed that to my nose. No wonder they wanted me to stay here, to fight for the U.S. Sure, why not? I’d racked up quite a few citations and medals. Mackintosh never got shit but a trip home in the body bag I should have be in. But, I definitely exacted my fair share of retribution for my buddy. I often wondered if I hadn’t killed Mackintosh, would I have tempted fate so many times and run headlong into so many firefights. Or would I have smelled those slimy rats and laid my own ambush? Just maybe it was that I got into those slimy fuckers’ heads and got to figuring them a few steps ahead of even themselves.

I prided myself in my expertise. Yeah, all the medals and citations, fuck that! What did any of that mean? I’ll say it meant only one thing; that I was infused with Mackintosh’s spirit and he told me, he whispered to me, when to move, when to charge headlong, when to feint, and when to cover. I’d killed a lot and I felt no remorse whatsoever. I’m sure I would burn in hell because I’d lost control over here. I took particular delight in watching those slopes suffer and let them go wander off, so disfigured, their limbs akimbo, their skulls just like my buddy’s that night in the church. And, I’d whisper, "There you are buddy, I chalked up another one. You can have at him now!

And, all those firefights and I never even stubbed my toe; nothing, not even a nose bleed. Oh, I almost drowned one time crossing a flooded river, but that was my own dumb ass fault! It was the weight of everything, my pack, the 30 caliber, my slipping on the bottom of the swollen river that dragged me under the muddy river water. Luckily, my Commander and my First Sergeant got to me and pulled me up. They dragged me to the edge of the river and we immediately got hit by an ambush! Here we were in the middle of a firefight and I had no weapon; I’d lost the 30 caliber in the river! So, I tried to get as prone as possible, no weapon to defend myself, and of course I’d suffered not one scratch, not one. I survived it again without a scratch. Only thing was, I puked out that muddy, nasty, polluted river water for what seemed like days afterwards.

But now, now I sensed it, that same odd sensation, my skin crawling, and I felt that something lurking, something close by and I feared it more than any firefight, ever. I sensed it, and it was not going away. At least in a firefight I figured I had the edge. I knew their tricks, I had meticulously gotten inside their heads and I got them good! That smell of cordite, the smoke, the firing of our weapons, the grenades, that cordite smell, it made me go at like warp speed. It seemed to ignite me, just like the gunpowder ignited the bullets. I think I loved it all, and knowing I had mastered it, I challenged the enemy many times, and I remained always victorious.

No, this time it was much different. I had no edge now. I was out on an isolated rock, no one else but me. I knew I was in major trouble and no one could help me now. It was Le, my Le, and the Le I was so in love with. I tried to shake it, I tried to ignore it, but it was not working. It stuck with me, that sensation and I knew. Now, I had to find out, and soon. I feared she was a Communist agent.

I stood there for a while and felt like there was nothing for me to do but wait for Le to do something that would give me the proof I needed. Then, if it were irrefutable, I knew for sure she was working with the Communists here in South Vietnam, I would take some drastic measure. I decided to wait and watch, observe and calculate. But, I had to figure this thing out before too long. If I just let it go on and Le was uncovered by us, and the South Vietnamese, I would be tried as a traitor! Me, Denton Wunderlin, a turncoat, a double-crossing scum who cavorted with the enemy and then, I would have nowhere to turn. I would evolve into a man without a country!

I slid back into bed and sighed deeply. Le was still sound asleep. I had to figure this all out. Dad and mom and my sister, back there in Pennsylvania had called and written many times and expressed just how proud they were of me. They said that when I got back home the whole town was going to throw a whole week-end party in my honor!

Shit, dad was a highly decorated World War Two combat veteran. His brother, my uncle died on the Normandy beachhead. Dad’s cousins were also World War Two veterans. Other townsmen there, in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, were Korean and Vietnam Veterans, too. I could just envision them all down at the V.F.W. (Veterans of Foreign Wars), drinking and talking it up about their hometown hero, me, Denton Wunderlin, to my dad!

I laid back and envisioned the headlines, Beaver Falls, Pa. soldier, Denton Wunderlin, highly decorated sergeant busted, arrested and jailed for treason: CHARGE: divulging classified information to a female Communist Agent in South Vietnam.

Well, it would be curtains for me. It wouldn’t matter if I didn’t divulge anything or not. I knew this Army! They used any and everybody, everyone was totally expendable. If the shit hit the fan, then, they’d fabricate anything to make me the fall guy.

And, actually, I would be at fault, no matter what! I’ve had my suspicions; I’ve felt my skin