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Non-B5: We were patriots once... and dead
CurZ
Resident Hippy
in Fan Fiction
"I'm glad I could die for my country," moaned Lt. Green.
Now Cpl. Kivorkean, the squad medic became as frustrated as he became furious.
"Jesus Christ on a stick, Ell-tee! That's the fifth god damn time you've said that in the last five god damn minutes! And you're not even hit, god damn it!"
Green smiled gently.
"I know you're just talking me down, Jim. But I can't feel my legs."
"That's because Wolf is lying on them! God damn it, sir, if you don't get up and start leading the men, I'll shoot you myself!"
Private Danny Wolf, the Texas machine gunner, 6' 4", 300 pounds, built like a brick wall, bellowed between bursts.
"Get some! Get some, you fuckers! Yeah! You like that, don't you?! Fucking gooks!"
A stray round grazed Pvt. Wolf in the shoulder.
"Motherf-- Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!" Wolf was known to become poetic when he was hit, despite of his gung-ho wildman nature. He was sent to the Navy shrink in Da Nang once, after he was found weeping at the remains of his squad, reciting verses of Shakespeare's Hamlet. He had managed to exterminate an entire VC company after an ambush caught the rest of his squad in a deadly hail of fire. Luckily for Wolf, he had been just 50 meters behind the rest of his squadmates, tying his boot laces, when the VC sprung their trap. The Navy psychiatrist had concluded it was Wolf's way of dealing with stress and shipped him back to his outfit. After all, despite being prone to pissing off the rest of the squad with his ramblings, he was a fine, outstanding killing machine.
Now he stood up, stabilized his M60 and started ripping off long bursts with the light machine gun.
"Or to take arms against a sea of troubles!"
[i]rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat[/i]
"And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep--No more!"
[i]rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat[/i]
"And by a sleep to say we end!"
[i]rat-tat-tat rat-tat[/i]
"The heartache and the thousand!"
[i]rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat[/i]
"LIEUTENANT! WAKE-THE-FUCK-UP-SIR!" screamed Kivorkean, "WE HAVE GOT TO DO SOMETHING!"
Lt. Green suddenly snapped out of it and jumped to his feet, a look of amazement on his face. He hopped around and stared at his legs.
"It's a miracle, Corporal! A miracle! I can walk!" the exhilerated Lieutenant yelled, "I'll see to it that you get the bronze star!"
"I don't want a fucking bronze star, Ell-tee! I want you to do something, sir!"
"Okay, Corporal, I'll make it a silver star!"
"No, god damn it! I don't want any fucking medals, I want you to get us the god damn hell out of here!"
"You drive a hard bargain, Corporal! A silver star and a distinguished service cross!"
"Fuck, sir! We don't have time for this!" Kivorkean opened up with his M16 and managed to fire off a few bursts before he noticed a potato masher landing in the middle of the bomb crater the squad was holed up in.
"GRENADE!" bellowed Kivorkean. He developed almost super-human strength in reaction to the immediate threat to his own life, grabbed one of the riflemen by his rucksack and threw him down on top of the grenade. The potato masher went off with a muffled blast that threw the sacrificed soldier four feet into the air, hitting Lt. Green and knocking him flat on his face.
"MEDIC!" came the call from the Lieutenant, "Kivorkean! I'm hit! I'm dying, Vork!"
"Christ! Not again!" yelled the immensely frustrated medic as he scurried over to the stunned Lieutenant to attempt yet again to rouse their fatalistic leader into action.
"Vork! I told you! I knew this would be the day! I don't want you to think I'm crazy, but the rat that lives under my hooch came up to me last night and told me I would die today. I accept my fate, Vork! It's amazing, but I feel like my whole life has been leading up to this point! To give my life for my men, and.."
This was the moment Kivorkean hated the most about every time Lt. Green would give one of his death speeches.
"I'm glad I could die for my country," said Green softly.
Kivorkean seethed with anger. He grabbed the Lieutenant by the collar and slapped him twice.
"Ell-tee! God damn it! Fuck, sir! You're not dying! You're not hit!"
Green smiled gently, as though he was talking to a child, "I know, Vork. I know.."
"SIR! God damn it! I'm not kidding! You're not injured!"
"Vork, I'm numb from the waist down. You're the medic, you know what that means."
"It means that a dead soldier with his guts in my hair is lying on top of you! You're not hit, Ell-tee! For Christ's sake!"
Now Cpl. Kivorkean, the squad medic became as frustrated as he became furious.
"Jesus Christ on a stick, Ell-tee! That's the fifth god damn time you've said that in the last five god damn minutes! And you're not even hit, god damn it!"
Green smiled gently.
"I know you're just talking me down, Jim. But I can't feel my legs."
"That's because Wolf is lying on them! God damn it, sir, if you don't get up and start leading the men, I'll shoot you myself!"
Private Danny Wolf, the Texas machine gunner, 6' 4", 300 pounds, built like a brick wall, bellowed between bursts.
"Get some! Get some, you fuckers! Yeah! You like that, don't you?! Fucking gooks!"
A stray round grazed Pvt. Wolf in the shoulder.
"Motherf-- Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!" Wolf was known to become poetic when he was hit, despite of his gung-ho wildman nature. He was sent to the Navy shrink in Da Nang once, after he was found weeping at the remains of his squad, reciting verses of Shakespeare's Hamlet. He had managed to exterminate an entire VC company after an ambush caught the rest of his squad in a deadly hail of fire. Luckily for Wolf, he had been just 50 meters behind the rest of his squadmates, tying his boot laces, when the VC sprung their trap. The Navy psychiatrist had concluded it was Wolf's way of dealing with stress and shipped him back to his outfit. After all, despite being prone to pissing off the rest of the squad with his ramblings, he was a fine, outstanding killing machine.
Now he stood up, stabilized his M60 and started ripping off long bursts with the light machine gun.
"Or to take arms against a sea of troubles!"
[i]rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat[/i]
"And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep--No more!"
[i]rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat[/i]
"And by a sleep to say we end!"
[i]rat-tat-tat rat-tat[/i]
"The heartache and the thousand!"
[i]rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat[/i]
"LIEUTENANT! WAKE-THE-FUCK-UP-SIR!" screamed Kivorkean, "WE HAVE GOT TO DO SOMETHING!"
Lt. Green suddenly snapped out of it and jumped to his feet, a look of amazement on his face. He hopped around and stared at his legs.
"It's a miracle, Corporal! A miracle! I can walk!" the exhilerated Lieutenant yelled, "I'll see to it that you get the bronze star!"
"I don't want a fucking bronze star, Ell-tee! I want you to do something, sir!"
"Okay, Corporal, I'll make it a silver star!"
"No, god damn it! I don't want any fucking medals, I want you to get us the god damn hell out of here!"
"You drive a hard bargain, Corporal! A silver star and a distinguished service cross!"
"Fuck, sir! We don't have time for this!" Kivorkean opened up with his M16 and managed to fire off a few bursts before he noticed a potato masher landing in the middle of the bomb crater the squad was holed up in.
"GRENADE!" bellowed Kivorkean. He developed almost super-human strength in reaction to the immediate threat to his own life, grabbed one of the riflemen by his rucksack and threw him down on top of the grenade. The potato masher went off with a muffled blast that threw the sacrificed soldier four feet into the air, hitting Lt. Green and knocking him flat on his face.
"MEDIC!" came the call from the Lieutenant, "Kivorkean! I'm hit! I'm dying, Vork!"
"Christ! Not again!" yelled the immensely frustrated medic as he scurried over to the stunned Lieutenant to attempt yet again to rouse their fatalistic leader into action.
"Vork! I told you! I knew this would be the day! I don't want you to think I'm crazy, but the rat that lives under my hooch came up to me last night and told me I would die today. I accept my fate, Vork! It's amazing, but I feel like my whole life has been leading up to this point! To give my life for my men, and.."
This was the moment Kivorkean hated the most about every time Lt. Green would give one of his death speeches.
"I'm glad I could die for my country," said Green softly.
Kivorkean seethed with anger. He grabbed the Lieutenant by the collar and slapped him twice.
"Ell-tee! God damn it! Fuck, sir! You're not dying! You're not hit!"
Green smiled gently, as though he was talking to a child, "I know, Vork. I know.."
"SIR! God damn it! I'm not kidding! You're not injured!"
"Vork, I'm numb from the waist down. You're the medic, you know what that means."
"It means that a dead soldier with his guts in my hair is lying on top of you! You're not hit, Ell-tee! For Christ's sake!"
Comments
"Mongoose Three-Two, this is Dustoff lead, do you read?"
Kivorkean, excited to know he was getting out of the trouble they were in, tore the radio from the operator's hands.
"Roger Dustoff! This is Mongoose Three-Two, we copy! Get us the hell out of here!"
"Mongoose, calm down. We don't see you, pop lemon smoke!"
Kivorkean, knowing the VC would be listening and attempting to lure the Huey over to them, tried to recall which color of smoke lemon was the code-equivalent of. He quickly grabbed a red smoke grenade and yanked the pin off.
"Dustoff, this is Mongoose, confirm lemon smoke!"
"Mongoose, this is Dustoff, we see lime, you dumb bastard."
That obviously meant Kivorkean had remembered the code wrong. The only option left was the green smoke. He grabbed the grenade and pulled off the pin.
"Dustoff, this is Mongoose, confirm lemon smoke this time!"
"Roger Mongoose, we confirm lemon this time. Get your codes right the next time, you dumb bastard, or I'll call down the guns on you."
"I'm not getting on that fucking thing!" yelled Sgt. Harris, "I'll take my chances with the VC! If we get on that thing we're dead for sure!"
Sergeant Michael Harris was a third-generation military man. His father and grandfather had been aviators in the Army and Air Force and both of them had been killed before reaching the age of 35. He was an exemplary leader and an excellent NCO. But whenever he came near anything that flies, he lost control. He had to be sedated on his flight to Vietnam so he wouldn't hurt anyone.
He looked at the incoming helicopter, shocked.
"We're all gonna die if we get on that thing! Lieutenant! Tell me we're not getting on that fucking helicopter!"
"I'm dying, Sergeant. You'll have to take command from here on out."
Kivorkean was now even more shocked than Harris had been at first.
"God damn it, sir, you're not dying! Sergeant, look, he's not even hit!"
Harris looked at Kivorkean smugly.
"I do believe the Lieutenant passed command to me, Corporal."
Kivorkean panicked, ran over to the Lieutenant, grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground.
"Sir, you poor stupid bastard, you're not hit!"
Lt. Green, ever acceptant of his fate, merely smiled.
"Vork, you'll have to do without me. I know it's hard for you, but you just have to accept it."
The bewildered medic turned to Wolf.
"WOLF! Tell this stupid bastard he's not hit! Do something!"
Wolf was not distracted by the pleas of Kivorkean and continued:
"The great man down, you mark his favourite flies!"
[i]rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat[/i]
"The poor advanced makes friends of enemies!"
[i]rat-tat-tat-tat rat-tat-tat[/i]
Kivorkean did not know what to do, until he saw Harris on the radio.
"Dustoff, this is Mongoose Three-Two! Situation is lost, I repeat, situation is lost! Do not come down! Do not--"
The furious and fearful medic grabbed his M16 by the barrel and swung it at Harris, cracking him in the head with the butt of the rifle. Harris was down for the count.
"Dustoff, this is Mongoose, ignore previous! Situation not lost!"
"Mongoose, what the fuck is wrong with you?! Do not play with me! Make up your god damn mind or I'll call the guns in on your limey ass! They'll be evacing you out of here in buckets! You want us in there or not?!"
"Roger Dustoff, get us out of here!"
"Say again, Mongoose, I did not hear the magic word!"
Kivorkean couldn't believe his ears.
"What?! We don't have time for this, Dustoff!"
"Correction, Mongoose, you don't have time for this. We have all the time in the world! Now what's the magic word?"
Kivorkean sighed.
"Pl-ease. Okay?! Fucking please! Please get us the god damn hell out of here!"
"That's more like it, Mongoose! Prepare for evac!"
The corporal thought he could hear laughing from the crew of the helicopter over the radio, but he valued his life far more than he valued his dignity, so he let the matter go. For now.
Three Hueys came in to lift the battered squad out of the bomb crater. As he entered the lead Huey the pilot looked puzzled at the sight of the lieutenant put on the helicopter on a stretcher, seemingly without a scratch on him.
"What's wrong with him?" he yelled at Kivorkean.
"He thinks he's dying!" the medic answered.
The Huey pilot and Kivorkean looked at each other for a few seconds until it sank in to the pilot that he had better not ask.
Among the squad, the only real casualties had been the rifleman Kivorkean had thrown on the grenade, in addition to the grenadier, who had blown his own head off in desperation, during the second time Lt. Green thought he was going to die.
The rest of the men survived to be lifted out of the zone. While Wolf was still firing his M60 from the third Huey, the crew chief of the helicopter was baffled by this monstrosity of a man, reciting verse after verse of Shakespeare while squeezing off salvos accurately from his machine gun, almost single-handedly decimating the enemy forces.
Kivorkean sighed, relieved that he had once again made it out of harm's way, against all odds, given the peculiarity of the squad and incompetence of their leader. But this was Vietnam, nothing worked the way it was supposed to. And Lt. Green once again smiled and spoke softly:
"I'm glad I could die for my country."
I like the characters. True set of oddball misfits.
Hmm... you know that medic's name sounds an awful lot like that real-life suicide doctor somewhere? Figures!