Story written by Paul Cooke

God Fuck America. That was the phrase etched into private Harks helmet. A personal statement of a fellow nineteen year old man fighting for his countries cause. One of vehement discontent against a nations patriarch by one of its forgotten sons. A vitriolic war cry scribed by a voice that would never be heard again after this day.

By March 11^th 1975 Private Harks had lived a lifetime in but just a few days. Born and raised in downtown L.A , in a neighbourhood where dodging bullets was a pastime. Killed in action , up shit creek Vietnam , a hell hole where just surviving is full time !. He was somebody for knowing I could have called friend , but like so many others before him his life was abruptly ended by someone who knew him only as an enemy.

We had been trained to focus on what was directly in front of us , instructed to entrust our back to the next fellow soldier following up behind us. Drill sergeants bellowing such indoctrination from the tactical writings of a retired officer , the type regaled with pretty ribbon medals , given out for braving the war whilst observing it at a safe distance through a pair of binoculars. No matter what the neatly pressed uniform brass pummel inside our heads the inherent compassion for a friend or loved one remains , and in the face of peril who but someone who cares for them will react !?.

From the position my unit had taken up , on the periphery surrounding the village of Dannong , both left and right flanks were visible. Directly in front of us were the Vietcong , cornered with no escape route due to the exposed embankment directly behind the village. The Vietcong were trapped , but they had no intention of being taken alive and were displaying their intent with an unrelenting display of firepower , heavily backed up by an untold arsenal horded within the camp. Their M2 Carbine machine guns making a uniformed clicking sound that reminds me of the St Valentine’s Day Massacre movie we watched in boot camp just days before this tour of duty had begun. Bullets were flying all around me and casualties were being taken on both sides.

Up on the hill , a couple of secured clicks behind us , the order was clearly given to weigh in with the big gun. Our collective units objective was after all to take assertive control of Dannong Village and destroy the Vietcong munitions holding. The ‘Burnin’ Bitch’ howitzer repeatedly spewed out its big shells , sounding out like claps of thunder and whistling by overhead like screaming banshees. As they landed on target within the village , and into the embankment , their impact kicked up a mighty cloud of dust and debris , the effect mushrooming outward and upwards into the sky. Dusk was almost upon us as the day had fast slipped away , and with such a reactive explosion it was suddenly as if darkness had prematurely enveloped us. It was at this moment that I instinctively looked out to my left hand flank to where Private Harks was positioned , a moment that will remain with me to my own dying day !. I witness a skeletal faced Vietnamese man , painfully emaciated in appearance and ragged in attire , rise up from the undergrowth to startle Harks. Before he can react , the seemingly frail man raises up his right arm with extraordinary speed , flicking his wrist and passing his spindly fingered hand across the throat of Private Harks. What the fuck just happened must surely have been the result of a concealed knife attack , as the blood from Harks neck sprays out as a direct result of his main artery being severed. He never stood a chance. My own mortality gets an instant reality check as the soldier directly beside me gives out a firm nudge , a timely reminder of the enemy threat still before us. As I turn to face front the horror of what I have just witnessed instantly becomes but another accepted wrinkle of desensitisation in the expression of war. Where the Vietcong stood with defiant resilience now languishes a large multitude of equally emaciated and sunken featured Vietnamese men , and curiously what appears to be a smattering of American nationals as well. The village must be a holding for POW’s as well as the intelligence factored munitions encampment !?.

Some of the soldiers around me become anxious , turning to a state of panic as we witness these zombie like arrivals turn their attentions to the wounded and surviving Vietcong. Before our very eyes , despite their frail looking dispositions , all display super human reflexes and a turn of speed that is both sudden and impulsive. We get to witness what is justifiably an act of vitrify able retribution. The emancipated captives rising up against their former captors , the presumed prisoners of war turning upon the Vietcong soldiers. What follows , however , turns many a stomach. Savage assault upon the downed enemy soldiers turns to cannibalism , as the tortured souls of once civilised human beings relentlessly tear at the very flesh of the now screaming Vietcong. Some of our own men actually let out cries of approval and cheer on the barbaric indiscretion , that is until the feeding upon those unable to defend themselves abates and the now Godless creatures become aware of the gathered masses. Blood dripping in globules of salivation from their agape mouths the ghouls rise up once again , only this time to turn their nefarious attentions toward us. Having just witnessed the set of a horror film , we were now about to become a part of it !.

The uniformly stunned reactions of our collective units thankfully did not long hypnotise our radio ops guy , he composed himself long enough to relay the situation to those back on the hill. What the fuck they must have made of the babbling rants of such an unfathomable check in I can only imagine , but what Uncle Sam does best in any war situation is expend as much over the top might as is readily available , whenever the call is received. My Swedish father would often mock the U.S way only to be curtly told off by my American mother , as she was raised in a military family that believed in fighting for their country and the rights of a free world. No civilian could ever have possibly known to have told me that by undertaking my conscription , and in swearing allegiance to the flag , would mean having to bear witness to courageous heroes of America being buried beneath what it stands for. Like so many of my fellow soldiers , stood side by side with me right here and now , we are proudly unified by our nations standard. The only other friend we have in common goes by the name of Jack Daniels !.

My personal thoughts are broken by startled cries of disbelief all around me , what appeared on first sighting to be the emancipated embodiment of POW’s now resembles that of something far more malevolent in nature , a ramshackle gathering of blood crazed cannibals. A posse of rabid humans with barely a semblance left within them of what they once were. They are attacking American soldiers , seemingly tearing at their throats with what appear to be elongated fangs , puncturing the flesh of terrified young men with a voracious appetite for … blood !. This is insanity , these barbaric bastards of humanity are sequentially slaughtering the very people who have given them their freedom. The contorted faces of fellow Americans , infested with a contaminant as insidious as this Vietnam war , unrecognisable behind a unified mask of malignancy. Scavengers , raped of their very Americanism !. How do I kill our own people !?. As easily as killing any threat to our great nation. Protect and serve. Those forgotten in war are remembered posthumously , it eases the pain and removes the guilt. Fuck this war !.

Reluctant at first to offer resilience I witness a mass return to arms as soldier after soldier raises up their weapon and fires it at these crazed creatures. Each bullet is fired in desperation rather than anger , hitting its intended target with close range accuracy , yet the result is a unilateral one. Not one fatality !. Whatever the Vietcong butcher doctors had laced these poor savages with must have sent their threshold for pain to oblivion. It has to be some experimental drug induced shit they pumped through these unfortunates system. The reasoning is a quick fire synapse that rallies through the ranks , as cries of ‘‘they ain’t human’’ echoes all around. What at first was startled disbelief has now turned to anger and even hatred towards our fellow man , suddenly an altogether new battle ensues.

We are told to hold ranks , the front line soldiers take the full brunt of the assault but in so doing have room to manoeuvre. Weapons continually fire and enraged soldiers charge at these seemingly unstoppable things , bayonets tearing into and through the grey toned torsos. In turn with a relentless forward motioned assault these godless husks of humanity scratch , scrape and tear at the flesh of Uncle Sam’s protectors , the first line of defence where qualification is exempt !. I witness a frenzied soldier charge at one of them , forcing his outstretched gun , with bayonet attached , directly through his victims stomach. Imbued with a surge of adrenalin the soldier lifts the monstrosity up off the ground and runs a distance with him wriggling like an eel , arms stretched outwards at the soldier , who is screaming his war cry directly into the creatures skeletal face. Down to the ground the monstrosity is thrown , held firm by the oversized left boot of the Private , who proceeds to savagely hack at it with multiple downward swipes of the bayonet blade. Kicking and flaying its arms the turbulent beast is unyielding , its long nails , almost talon like , tearing at the soldiers legs. With ferocious finality the pumped up soldier levels his blade directly into the man monsters throat , and with a heavy tilt from left to right he pivots the sharp edge with a slicing motion , one that severs the head from its wielder’s shoulders. The expunge of thickly formed blood comes fast , the agitated struggle ends instantly. The creature is killed !. Not that the exhausted Private has time to appreciate fully what he has achieved , as before he can take a moment to wipe his heavily sweated brow his life too is ended !. Another of the vile creatures takes him by surprise , his over exerted body now limp in shock , and unable to offer any resistance to the attack he relinquishes his hold on life. With incisor tearing precision his throat is ripped open and the blood lapped up with a consuming thirst. The survival of the fittest mercilessly does not allow for time outs to rejuvenate.

Finally from over head comes a welcome sound above the screams of blood curdling death cries , the uplifting visual of an incoming Huey. A Bell UH-1 helicopter , armed with M60 machine guns , and if we are really lucky an XM157 rocket launcher to send these motherless fuckers to Hell. It flies directly into the centre of the village , hovering down to offer fire power support as well as bringing medical assistance for the wounded. The undying bastard battalion of creatures is uncannily attracted by the Huey’s arrival. With instinctual prowess what seems like two dozen of them are all over the ‘copter , pulling at it and rocking its chassis. The rotating blades are perilously close to cutting into the ground. With all guns a blazing the creatures are often thrown back , but incredibly rise up again to soon replace the one next sent flying past them. For the second time though I witness a fallen foe as one of the blood beasts walks under the rotating blade and its head is instantaneously severed off. Its limp body crumbles to the ground , no more to rise up , it too is diminished of life !. The overwhelming wealth of animated bodies overpowers the occupants of the helicopter , and as the pilot is sent head first out through the cockpit windscreen nothing can stop the inevitable. Like a mighty mammoth felled the Huey bellies up , its mighty blades slicing into the encrusted ground beneath it. The brave custodians sent to give assistance to our fallen comrades pay for this selfless act with their own lives !.

As the smoke and haze clear , the death , destruction and debris is evident to behold. As clear as the still standing bastion of unholy creatures here with us today. Before them is a bloodily adorned plain , splayed with body upon body as far as the eye can see. I think about my parents and call upon the Catholic faith my mother raised me with. Around my neck is a silver crucifix that she gave to me as a young boy , I have worn it with belief in the church and the love of both my mother and father. My faith , now more than ever is keeping me resolute. Whilst I still stand there is hope for me , and whilst I am still able to fight there is hope for those that stand with me.

The familiar voice of my Lieutenant shouts out the order to my unit to stand to , albeit this day not as confidently crisp and resolute as I know it to be , and prepare to take up the advance position against the enemy. Before us lay the lifeless bodies of our brave fighting fellow soldiers , limbs torn from their carcasses and throats savaged beyond belief. I know not what will save me this day against such an unholy alliance , but I have seen how these creatures may die. It is time to make my parents proud of their son , time for us all to make our country proud of its sons. I reach under the top of my fatigues and pull out my crucifix. If I am to come face to face with evil then I am going to let it see the faith I have in good. As the battle charge cries out I too shout out to my young comrades and the word spreads through the ranks. The only way to kill these blood sucking Vampires is to remove their heads. They’re coming at us now , tongues hissing behind blood tinged fangs and their foul smelling stench carried upon the night air. The Lord be with us. God Bless America !.