The Memoirs of Sam Renier

Chapter 24: Maneater Mount

It was July, 14th, 1968 -- Bastille Day, as if we had any
goddamn commie Frenchies in our party! Hah! CenComm ordered us to take Hill #117 from a nest of VC scumbuckets who took it from TangoCharlie
Group two weeks ago. Goddamn hill. It's changed hands so many times, ya just need a coin toss ta see who owns it each week. But then, the VC hadn't run
into BravoDelta Group yet! We got the colors that
don't run!

Sunrise
-- Coffee and an MRE just ain't the same without a
whiff o' gunpowder and the scream of enemy wounded. We surprised 'em alright. We sent a pack of VC hostages dressed up like
Marines up the hill first to scout for landmines. Hell, prisoners of war make
the best landmine detection that money can't buy.

Oh, they found the Bouncing Betties and pungi
sticks alright! Yeah, and I'm all
broken up inside that we lost all our hostages. Chalk it up as "Misc.
Losses". Screw'em. They tried sneakin' into camp last week to cut our throats while we
slept. Don't gimme any of that goddamn "POW
Convention" crap!

It took till sunset, but we took Maneater
Mound from the stinkin' machine gunners.
The creeps were using lots of secondhand Soviet crap -- not even good for scrap
metal or salvage.

We only had one casualty: the goddamned U.N. Observer who
was followin' us around all day. Fooey!
He was probably a commie spy anyway. Screw'em all!

Yeah, we took Hill #117, and the only thanks we got was a bunch of lip from some commie hippie at the Washington
Post. Babykillers indeed!

Semper Fi,
baby!