Battle of Cái chết núi

Dimness set abound from the horizon as the sun was in a relative limbo of whether to set within the horizon or to peer over the edge. Sunset. That which sets light minded its own business, as clouds did what they do best -- litter the tops and rain. It was the bouncy sort of rain, pouring heavily. A machete was brandished, dim and dull in steel, as a man wearing what would be a floppy hat, settled within the thickets of the grass and bamboo that surrounds the area. Silent and quiet, his features with lesser wrinkles. It was Colt, accompanied to his left flank, Buffle, his negroid friend. Or so the appropriate and polite term is, for the 60's.

"Keep yer eyes peeled, mate," he nudges to the man, prone behind a shrub, "We got ourselves a couple of these gook fucks ninety meters ahead, most likely a patrol, best finish them and follow the direction they were heading. I reckon that's where the Pee Oh Dubya's* are."

It was true, their entire squad were in a mixed frenzy of being slaughtered like rats, or captured to be tortured for information, and these Viet Cong, they are savage bastards best put down with a bullet to the head. In Colt's case, he was merely an attaché, a guide to these thick jungles to an American platoon now reduced to only two soldiers; Colt and Buffle. Colt wore the 1ATF uniform in olive camouflage, with the distinctive slouch hat, whereas Buffle wore jungle drabs the US soldiers wore, with his distinctive M1 helmet with a jungle cover.

*Pee Oh Dubya's = POW/Prisoners of War, a general slang at the time.

It was funny really, the one who was power incarnate was not defined, the one who wasn't was defined as such. Visual illusions that paint the weave of deceits naturally. Colt naturally one for the spur of the moment, stood up from his place and beat his drum with the hand lacking an armament of sorts. Roaring as loud as he could, like the mighty beast he was. It naturally drew attention from the Viet Cong. Looking down upon them from the sloppy highs, Colt gave off a smirk. He hadn't stood in the realms of the normal and mundane, his was of supernatural powers.

The Viet Cong had seen but a phantom, an after-image as before Buffle was the unknown, blood flew, and so had appliances of the body. Fingers, eyes, heads, all rolled down the same as but in an instant, the machete was bloodied, yet the Aussie was not. The Viet Cong, human and standing, now got torn into ribbons. It was a display of something unknown to Buffle. Something never seen before. Only one was left alive amidst the sudden pile of corpses, a man shivering in awe-struck fear from what was displayed. Shaking so, unnerved his gun cannot be reached properly, his strength sapped from the fear clutching his beating heart, paled before a monster.

"Too bloody easy," Was what Colt says, apparently not mindful he exposed the unearthly elements to his friend, "Well then, he is all yours. Show'em what happens to anyone that sympathizes with the Viet Cong, how we do it... jungle style. Shove that Semper Fi principle o' yours down his throat by the fistful."

"W-wait, no! Gee Eye*! I no talk to you Yankee dogs!" The weak mortal spoke before Colt, that whom was named similar to the gun known as M1911.

"Yankee? I ain't no American, you stupid fucking Chinaman." A swift, albeit restrained kick was promptly delivered to the North Vietnamese officer's chest, were it empowered, there would be a lot of gore strewn up with none the information.

*G.I: A derogatory term used by the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army in reference to the American soldiers stationed in Vietnam.