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- Herausgeber: BookRix
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
“Dinky Dau Man” is a simple tale about two men working out their past issues amidst the chaos of Vietnam’s combat zone. One man deserves to die. The other man adores the idea of making that happen on behalf of a murdered girl.
The above story comes with a bonus. In “Turn Loose the Night”, Oliver intends to see his grandsons, and the end of the world will not stand in his way. He made a promise, after all. His trip could end (or maybe begin) in a strange town, this totally normal place untouched by the nuclear wasteland that has replaced the world.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
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Dinky Dau Man
BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 MunichTITLE
DINKY DAU MAN
by
Jake Wilhelm
includes the bonus story “On Through the Night”
FRONT MATTER
COPYRIGHT
Title: Dinky Dau Man/Turn Loose the Night
Title Story 1: Dinky Dau Man
Title Story 2: Turn Loose the Night
Author: Jake Wilhelm
Cover design: Jake Wilhelm
ALL ITEMS (c) Jake Wilhelm 2017/EP Dowd Enterprises. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in shape or form by any means, electronic, mechanical, copying, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to my father, for his inspiration and support
DINKY DAU MAN
Two Huey jocks offered Whitefield a lift to Saigon. It started out like a deal made in heaven. The pilot, a Captain named Guthrie, and his co-pilot Lieutenant Sanders had to go anyhow - something about taking a refresher class of some sort – so they said he might as well come along.
They told him about a stop they had to make on the way. A cinch. They had to pick a squad of Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol boys on patrol. The LRRPs had made it back to their pick-up point some ways inside friendly territory and needed a lift the rest of the way home.
“It’s gonna be a milk run, Corporal,” claimed Guthrie. “We provide the best for senior citizens such as yourself! Smooth flying, warm milk and nothing but smiles. Then we hand you off to the Freedom Bird and you’re back in The World. Lucky mother, I gotta tell you. Hey, I’ll pin a note on your shirt in case you wander off and get lost.”
“I’m only 32,” Whitefield said, grinning. For Vietnam, he was aged, elderly, and just what the hell was he doing here?
“Oh, you couldn’t hear me. NOTHING BUT A MILK RUN, MISTER!” Chuckling, Guthrie went back to flying the Huey.
The first clue should have been the mere realization that there was no friendly territory in Vietnam, and this milk run swiftly evolved into one of the hottest landing zones Whitefield had seen in his too many months In Country. The men they were there to pick up did what they were supposed to do, planting their feet right where they needed to be – right coordinates, they’re in the grassy area that’s a cinch to land in - but the tree line was lousy with Charlie, six of them nice enough to use their machine guns to peck away at the helicopter as it swept in.
Guthrie was a smart SOB. Quickly determining the firing range of the AK-47s, Guthrie dipped the Huey out of range with skids just nearly touching the dirt, rotors whistling the grass flat. Sanders leapt in back to man the door gun. Under his cover fire, the long range recon boys, four of them, sprinted through the grass. Whitefield yanked the first three into the chopper, quick, quick, quick, just like that. The VC popped from the tree line and Sanders continued to preoccupy himself with his giant M-60, a ripping racket as bullets, a green tracer every tenth round, tore into the ground, shredded grass and flesh.
The fourth man remained on the ground, firing his M-16. One of his pals screamed out, “Dinky, man, let’s go!” Two VC fell, spinning, the door gun buzzed, the fourth LRP ran out of rounds and turned around, reaching for help.
Whitefield took the hand, and almost let it go. He knew the man. Didn’t want to know him. “Grab him, man!” yelled the LRRPs in unison. Whitefield snatched the man into the Huey. “UP!” screamed Sanders, still busy at his job. The chopper rose. Of the three Charlies remaining, two scampered back into the trees, leaving behind one plucky little dude that kept running at the chopper, kept shooting. Two or three bullets went ‘chip-ching’ somewhere above Whitefield’s head. Sanders laid on his triggers until the Viet Cong split in half and finally stopped shooting.
The man, Dinky they called him, sat across from Whitfield and gave him a nod. As his comrades hooted with glee from being out of the jungle, being out of the jungle feet first and alive, clapped Guthrie’s back, the man across from Whitefield kept quiet. Whitefield’s eyes drifted to the man’s chest. As the other men celebrated and stank from their prolonged exposure to the jungle, Whitefield’s eyes picked over each of the human ears on the man’s necklace and counted 15 ears that had been carved from their owners’ heads, and he wanted to throw the man from the Huey.
“What’s your deal? Why are you staring at me?”
The interior of the Huey went silent.
