Here is chapter two. Note that this character's story will span a few chapters, and they'll be dotted around the story. So no, this is not the only part of it, and no, the next chapter will not be continuing it. A few chapters after that, yes.
Chapter Two: Welcome to the Jungle
June 18th, 1967
12:07 AM
The sounds of the jungle filtered into Alexander Hinton's mind as he slept. You could never escape them from here. The sounds of bugs, rain, trees, and occasionally, the rattling sounds of an AK-47. The base was located about four miles north of Bein Hoa, in the south of Vietnam, and several hundred soldiers were stationed there.
Hinton had joined the United States Army around four months before. His life had begun to turn around after his mother died in September of 1966. He had gotten a job, an apartment, and he was generally on the fast-track to an average life. Then things went to hell. His sister overdosed on heroin, he was fired from his job, and he was on the verge of losing everything he had worked for. In a fit of desperation, he lied about his age, as he was only seventeen, and joined the army, telling his few friends that he was drafted. Luckily, none of them thought to check their facts, as only people eighteen and older could be drafted. After ten weeks of basic training, he had been notified that he could be sent to Vietnam at any time. Sure enough, less than two weeks later he was on a jet bound for the jungle.
The worst part wasn't the danger, the fact that you were being shot at, the fact that you could be in the sights of a sniper at any time, or the separation from your friends. The worst part was the heat. It was always there, smothering you in an ocean of sweat. As such, it was not surprising that Hinton was sleeping in soaking-wet sheets when the mortar shells started falling. The first wave was off by a decent amount, falling just inside the first perimeter line. The VC quickly reaimed, and the second wave hit true, landing throughout the base. By that point, Hinton had already rolled out of his bunk and grabbed his M-16.
"What the f*ck is going on!" he screamed, huddled with his gun in nothing but his boxers. "The f*cking VC are hitting us again!" someone yelled from down the line of beds, though he couldn't tell who. Hinton cursed under his breath and practically jumped into his pants. He was already wearing a t-shirt, so he didn't bother with his jacket. He simply threw his boots on, laced them in record time, then grabbed his helmet and ran out of the barracks at full speed. By that point, the third wave was incoming.
A mortar shell slammed into the ground about twenty feet ahead of Hinton, peppering him with kicked up dirt. He was unharmed, but his ears were ringing, nearly drowning out the PA system. It was screeching the same message it always did: "We are under attack. All soldiers report to their assigned battle stations." Hinton ignored it, as he knew the drill. His rifle seemed heavy in his hands, the same way it always did when something bad was happening. He ran past a fellow soldier who was lying sprawled out, his leg several feet away, severed at the knee. Hinton ignored his screams much like he did the PA system; the kid was a new guy, they hadn't had a chance to form a soldier's bond yet.
Reaching the inner perimeter line, Hinton threw himself down into the trench that was dug there. A fourth wave of mortar rounds landed far behind him, and he heard a tank of something flammable explode. The machine-guns were lighting up already all up and down the lines, with bullets tearing through the foliage in the direction they thought the fire was coming from. That wasn't Hinton's job though. He was just supposed to sit there and hope to hell whatever was thrown at him could be handled with his rifle.
Another figure leaped into the trench next to him. Hinton tensed up, but it was just Randall, his bunk mate. "Aw hell, not this again," Randall said to nobody in particular as he checked his weapon. Hinton did the same, then sighted down it towards the dark trees. The mortars had fallen silent, causing an eerie calm to fall over the base. The machine guns fell silent after another minute or so, leaving silence in their wake.
Hinton continued to stare into the darkness of the tree line, trying to make out any movement. Sweat trickled down his back as he felt the bugs crawling around him. They were always there, but it was worse at night. Hinton suddenly snapped to attention, "Did you just see that?" Randall looked over, "See what?" Hinton squinted his eyes, seeing no more motion. "Nothing." His actions said otherwise, however. He'd seen something move, he knew it. They were out there, they owned the jungle.
His suspicions were confirmed by the crack of a rifle. Hinton felt the shot, it came so close. The bullet buried itself in the dirt next to his head. All up and down the lines, a hail of bullets were thrown out towards the trees. Hinton joined in, firing off his entire clip at the general area of the shooter. The gun vibrated in his hands with every shot, nearly slipping out a few times due to the sweat coating the grips. The weapon gave a click as the final round fired, causing Hinton to fumble for his extra magazines. "Aw Christ." He'd left them in his bandoleir, which was on his bed.
Hinton turned around, looking back towards the barracks several hundred feet to the rear. He could make it in under a minute if he went fast. There had been nobody shooting back towards them since that single shot, but there was no way he was about to risk getting caught with no ammo. "I'll be right back," Hinton whispered to Randall. He threw himself up out of the trench, then began running towards the barracks. He heard a distant "whump" sound, but he didn't think of it. Seconds later, the explosions came. They'd fired off another set of mortar rounds.
They all went off behind Hinton, and he hit the ground instinctively as shrapnel tore through the air around him. He quickly checked himself over for injury, then glanced back towards the line. What he saw terrified him. A plume of smoke was rising from the trench where he had just been. Hinton grabbed his rifle and tore ass back to the trench, praying the whole way there that he wouldn't see what he expected to see. No dice. Randall was dead, his corpse nearly ripped in half from the force of the explosion. "Holy sh*t..." It occurred to him that, had he brought his extra ammo, he'd have been in that trench. As he looked over the blood and gore, Hinton's shock was replaced by a single emotion: rage.
He snatched up Randall's extra ammo, jammed a full clip into his rifle, then threw himself over the barbed wire that separated the base from the wilderness outside. There was about 100 feet of open ground before the trees, and Hinton began to run across it. He screamed, switched his rifle to semi-auto, then began firing into the bushes. He couldn't even articulate his words, he was that angry. There was only silence from the woods though, nothing but the usual sounds of nature. They were gone. As the clip went dry, Hinton fell to his knees, staring at the forest. All that, and probably not even a single one of them were hurt.
He picked himself up and stumbled back to the lines. Nobody had even noticed that he was gone, so he was able to hop the wire easily. Several people told him that they could go back to bed, but it was like he was hearing them through a haze. Nothing they said mattered to him. He dropped his rifle, made it another few feet, then passed out as the adrenaline left his body. He faintly heard a cry of "Medic!", but it didn't matter to him. His friend was dead, his killers had escaped, and nothing he could do would change the fact that he was stuck here for another nine months. His last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was simple regret for enlisting. He hated Vietnam even more than he hated his life before the war, but there was no turning back now.
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