The Memoirs of Sam Renier

Chapter 27: Showdown
with Tunnel Rat Ted

September 13, 1968. It
was as hot as candle wax, and it was drizzling for the past six days -- you
could drown frogs in this weather. But it was just another week in the life for
BravoDelta Group. The green-headed flies were like
vampires outta some crap horror flick, 'cept they didn't fear man, sunlight, or fire. Corporal
Pablo O'Riley caught a coupla constrictor snakes, so we got something
better than MREs for breakfast. Had to use napalm ta start the cookin' fire. Hated
to waste the napalm when there's so many VC kids ta
spray it on!

CenComm sent us orders over the
wireless. Goddamned armchair generals! They haven't opened a door for
themselves in twenty years, but they're tryin' ta run a war outta
Washington
while worryin' more about keeping the editorial staff
of the NY Times appeased than they are fryin' VC. The
message was the same old crap: Looks like Shoeshine Charlie faked his own death
last month and reconned with another VC scum named
Tunnel Rat Ted. Assholes! You'd think six bullets in the belly would be enough
for Charlie, but I've got a seventh with his initials carved on it! Yessuh!

To add insult to
injury, the brass sent us another U.N. Observer to spy on us. Don't give me none of that "human rights violations" crap when
we've got a JOB to do! Or maybe the "observer" wasn't too well liked
at the U.N. -- after all, they don't exactly have a long life expectancy with BravoDelta!

The Tunnel Grid is enough to make the Army types wet
themselves with fear. But no VC underground deathtrap filled with pungi sticks, mines, poison gas and tripwires can scare BravoDelta! No way! We're Marines, goddamnit!

We got to Tunnel 213, and the goddamned VC's were dressed
like scarecrows with anorexia. But then, most scarecrows don't have AK47s! If
communism was so damned special, then how come all the guerrilla fighters
always looked like starving waifs? They opened fire and shot Palbo O'Riley and Colin Rodriguez
right in the chest! Damn VC! The swooped down from the trees on bungie cords and fell from the sky like black rain. There
must have been a hundred of them and only 14 of us. I hate to give the VC such
unfair odds -- for them, that is!

We unleashed the fires of hell against them -- full auto
from twelve of my men, plus two flame throwers, and five grenade launchers.
Shoeshine Charlie took a rocket in the chest and erupted in flame. He did the
dance o' death, two-step! Huzzah! The cadence of machine gun fire is a beat BravoDelta can get down to!

Tunnel Rat Ted came at me with whirling knives screamin' about his godless commie vengeance. Goddamn
maniac was going on full afterburners, high on cocaine --
his pupils looked like train tunnels! But only a fool brings a knife to
a gunfight, and he looked pretty foolish without a head after I finished
shooting it off with a rocket-propelled grenade!

We filled Tunnel 213 with kerosene and set it ablaze. The
howl of the three-dozen VC  below ground was like
a chorus of demons -- ahh the smell of burning flesh
in the morning. Smells like Victory!!

Our new U.N. Observer called me a "butcher" and
was going to report my "war crimes" to some bleeding heart sonofabitch named Kerry John or something stupid like that
-- Godamned commie. Probably a  Frenchie who reads the Washington Post like it was
the Bible!

Spies don't last long in BravoDelta
Group, and "Observers" tend ta catch
bullets if ya get my drift.

Semper Fi,
baby!