The Speed of Sound Issue No.3

メコン川 ストリーム
0700 Hours
Waters and team presumed KIA


Our sampan slowly drifted down the river. Mosely and I didn't really say anything to one another; there was really nothing to say. We were planning to go downstream 'till dawn to keep in the dark; we couldn't risk getting caught by a riverside patrol. Mosely and I took 3 hour shifts, while the other rested. Eventually, morning came, along with no breakfast. We grabbed some branches off a nearby tree, and whittled them with our K-bars to create somewhat authentic fishing spears. Unfortunately, the river was too fogged-up with mud and dust for us to see through. It really made me miss the transparency in streams back in Beale.

"Hey, Alan; closed trail. 3:00."

I turn my head sharply to the right. Up on a rigid cliff, lay a highway, occupied with multiple jeeps and military trucks. On the side in large Courier print, are the words: người có thẩm quyền chỉ.

"Authorized Personnel Only, it says. NVA"

As we whispered, large groups of Viet-Cong walked along side the river. We lay down and pray. Two soldiers stop for a smoke right on the edge of the riverbank. Of course, I had no idea what they were talking about. They were saying something about the "Ho Hoan Kiem"; a lake right by Hanoi Penitentiary. The only other word we could make out was "Sampan". The boat drifted down the river as the two Viet-Cong killed the cigarette butts. After the small encampment dilemma, I fell into a deep sleep as Mosely skippered the boat. I can't remember when I woke up, but it was night. The Sampan was lazily floating by a small village of huts. Gunfire and female screams were heard for minutes on end. I sat there in fear, wondering what could possibly be happening.

"They're killing the villagers."

Delirious, I began to re-shut my eyes, hoping to wake up in the daylight. Right before my right eyelid closed, a faint, whistling sound began to crescendo, as a large, cylindrical metal object tore the boat's port side clean off, forcing us into the water. Since we've been spotted, bullets created a stream of bubbles as they pierced the Vietnamese water. Swim, I thought, swim. I signaled Mosely a gesture to follow me, but he denied and began paddling in the opposite direction. Frustrated, I followed him as steaming lead surrounded me. Soon, the water became to muggy to see just about anything. I lost sight of Mosely. Bringing my head up for air, I waded to the side, under the brush.

"Mosely." I whispered. "Mosely!"

No reply. I continued downstream, where I could think anyone would want to go. Silhouettes of Sampans disappeared into the foggy night, with Vietnamese and Laotian fights breaking out over lost Americans. I spent the next couple hours looking for Mosely, or at least until the sun came up. Eventually, I wore tired of the Mosquitoes and the obscene humidity. I waded in a nearby 死の沼, as the locals called it. It smelt of poverty and death, explaining the 死 part. To this day, I could never figure out why it was in Japanese and not Vietnamese. Japanese settlers? I walked into some shallow ground right about the time I hit a soft log. Probably some dead wood. I kicked it out of the way. But then some more dead wood. I picked it up to guess how old this 沼 was anyway. But it had some odd twigs. But they weren't twigs. They were fingers. Immediately, I threw it into the water. From there I realized I was truly in a 死の沼. The Vietnamese. They did this. They killed the villagers along the メコン川. War crimes; inhumane. But why?

"Help! Oh, God, someone help me!"

Mosely was screaming. Pain. Agony. 死. I rushed through the 沼 to the nearest source of light. But as Mosely's screams grew closer and closer: boom. Gunshot. I stopped, and crouched behind the nearest tree. I watched as some NVA moved Mosely's body across a courtyard, and laid him next to a house. After harassing some villagers, they left. A group of children crowded around him as I pushed through the group. Mosely was sitting there, hole in his temple, spurting blood. He was unconscious, so I picked him up and started walking towards a stray Sampan. I set him down on it. However, something was different about this one; it was heavier. I found a tarp and covered Mosely. But as I moved the tarp, I noticed the previous owner of it was an arms dealer; assault rifles, sub-machine guns, sidearms, even a few grenades were riddled in the corner. It was Heaven. I pushed off as the crescendo of guns and screams came into hearing range. From there, we stumbled upon the attack of Hue City.