SNAFU: Hunters

I think he will be young. I think he will be friendly. I think he will be smiling that damned creepy smile of his as he asks me polite questions and considers whether or not I’m responsible for what Lincoln has done with the old stories I told him. I expect whatever answers he wants, I’ll give them to him. It’s been a lot of years and I still keep hearing his voice and seeing the distant, cold expression on his face when he said, “There are ways to get answers.”

I have never been that brave a man.

I pray he decides to forgive me.

Ngu’Tinh D.F. Shultz

The creature was just a few paces away, slinking in Nathan’s direction through the foliage. It looked like a ten-feet-tall praying mantis, only with smooth skin like a reptile, and a tiny, eyeless head. It moved slowly, hunting its prey.

Senses heightened by adrenaline, Nathan was acutely aware of his surroundings. The lapping of the nearby river; the buzzing of insects; a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. He felt the weight of the CAR-15 in his hands, the feel of his finger on the trigger.

Palm leaves quivered as the creature brushed past within arms-reach. He steadied the assault rifle; how did I get myself into this shit? Only a few days earlier he’d been safe on base, drinking with the rest of the team in their makeshift bar. There had been a lot of talk lately about casualties. Inside the repurposed army tent, Nathan listened to snippets of drunken chatter.

“Got him when we went to take a piss.”

“Found ‘em ripped to shreds.”

“Just like the others.”

“Disappeared in the trees. Not a goddamn trace.”

There were a few other SEALs at the table with Nathan: Leon, Simon, Buck Williams, and the ‘Professor’. They’d called him that since finding out he’d quit his PhD to join the squids. Bao, their translator, was also there. Nathan suspected Bao was the smartest man in the room.

“I heard it was alligators,” said Leon.

“You mean a crocodile,” said the Professor. “They don’t have ‘gators in Nam.”

“The fuck’s the difference?”

“It wasn’t a croc’,” Nathan said. “Prob’ly some VC guerillas. They know how to use the river and the trees.”

“What about the bodies? They’re all mangled like an animal got ‘em.”

“Sometimes the VC string men up to the trees,” Nathan said, “keep ‘em alive and pull their guts out.”

“The screams help draw in men for an ambush,” the Professor added.

An angry-looking marine walked up to the table. “It’s not like that,” he said. “We just find ‘em torn up, pieces missing.”

“God—” Simon shook his head. “Why?”

“My guess is intimidation,” Nathan said. “They’re trying to put us on edge.”

“Bastards,” Leon spat.

“They won’t get away with this,” Simon said through gritted teeth.

“That’s just the thing, though,” the marine said, bitterness edging into his voice. “We haven’t been able to get authorization to do anything about it, and we don’t have any actionable intel’. But we heard about you SEALs. Word is you might have the skill-set and operational freedom to track these guys down and take ‘em out.”

“Well if you’re looking for a hunter,” Simon said, “Nathan’s your man.”

“You know, it’s funny.” Nathan set down his beer. “I never was a big fan of hunting.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Simon said with a laugh.

“It’s true,” Nathan said, leaning back in his chair. “I remember the first time I took down a deer. My dad was there, congratulating me, patting me on the back. I knew how I was supposed to feel, but it’s not how I felt.”

“Sad you took out Bambi or something?” Leon asked, and the rest of the SEALs laughed. “You got a soft spot we don’t know about?”

“Nah,” Nathan lied, because that was part of it. “That deer was too easy to track, too easy to shoot. I never liked hunting animals. It just felt like cheating.”

Leon laughed. “That’s one way to brag. You should teach classes in that shit.”

The SEALs looked back at the marine, who stood silent and unblinking beside their table.

“You want somethin’?” Leon asked.

“The name’s Chris Donaldson,” he said, and the others introduced themselves. “I never wanted to come to Nam, but I signed up when my little brother got drafted. Thought maybe I could keep him safe. His name was Bradley.”

Bradley Donaldson. Nathan remembered the name. A young kid, 18-year-old marine. Two weeks ago they’d found his body by the river. What was left of it anyway.

Before Nathan could speak, they were interrupted by barking and yelling outside the tent. The SEALs leapt from their table and ran outside.

The chained guard dog, Rex, had got himself a piece of the pant-leg of a uniformed army officer. The man was sprawled on the ground, struggling to pull the fabric from the growling dog’s teeth.

“Get this thing off me,” he shouted.

“Down, Rex.” Buck pulled the dog by the collar then offered the man a hand up.

“Sorry about that, Chief,” Nathan shouted to the officer across the dirt clearing. “You wanna come inside for a drink?”

The man glared.

“What’re you doin’, Nathan?” Professor whispered from behind. “That’s General Cain.”