The October Five (2010) by Thomas Fincham

Author:Thomas Fincham [Fincham, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-12-29T00:00:00+00:00

The village was constantly attacked. The Viet Cong wanted to instil fear into the marines and the villagers. But the CAP members and the PFs were able to hold them off at every turn.

The children, especially the boys, saved them on more than one occasion. They provided intelligence reports on when the village was going to be attacked. Some of that information was unreliable but it was the best they had.

One report came that they were going to be attacked that very night. Corporal Frank Edwards set up three teams. Michael, Alvin Shorley, and Daniel Simmons was one; Vincent Crouch, George Hill, and Samuel Patroni, the second; and Bartholomew Tarkovsky, Victor Thomason, and Frank Edwards, the third team. Each team was assigned four PFs.

In the dark, on the outskirts of the village, Michael lay on his stomach with his M-16 aimed at the jungle.

On his left, a few yards away, Alvin Shorley was hidden behind tall grass.

On his right, Daniel Simmons was ready with his M-60 machine gun.

Behind them were the PFs. They were terrified. Michael’s heart pounded underneath his flak jacket. On several occasions the PFs had dropped their weapons and run away. To discourage this, Corporal Edwards had fired at one of the PFs—the bullet missing the knee by an inch. Whether Edwards had aimed for the leg and missed or had aimed for the ground but got close, no one knew. However, it did send a message to all the PFs.

Michael didn’t trust the PFs. He didn’t blame them for running, either. Untrained and ill-equipped, even with the marines there they were still afraid of the Viet Cong. One day the Americans would get tired and go back, leaving them vulnerable to the Viet Cong.

The PFs had more at stake in this war than any of the marines.

The wind blew, hot and muggy, rustling the branches and the grass. Underneath his helmet sweat rolled down his temples and on his neck. Michael didn’t bother wiping it. The heat would not allow him to be dry. And he was not going to take off his helmet.

Another fear ran through every soldier’s mind. The enemy was watching them, waiting for a mistake. Even behind the grass, brush, or shrub the enemy could see the helmet, bopping up and down. If the soldier took off his helmet, the enemy would see exposed flesh and a bullet would rip the soldier’s head open.

Michael heard gunfire behind him, on the other side of the village. One of the teams was under fire.

Michael faced the jungle again, his M-16 ready. His sweaty finger caressed the trigger. He braced himself.

One minute went by, then two and then three.

Michael grew more anxious. Sweat was streaming down his face, getting in his eyes. He blinked once, twice, but the sticky water was blurring is vision.

He pulled down lower and rubbed his eyes with his damp sleeve. When he looked up he saw something move up ahead. He squinted. The hot wind was swaying the branches. He couldn’t tell if it was the wind or if there was someone there.

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