The Killer Things

By Art Wiederhold

Central Highlands, Vietnam, July 1971

When American pilots detect something big and heavy moving through the jungle some seventy-five miles northwest of Fort Nowhere, Lt. John Barrows and his squad are sent to check it out.

At the same time, NVA captain Ho Huong is tasked with a two-fold mission by his commanding officer. His main objective is to locate and exterminate bands of rogue VC who have been terrorizing villagers south of the DMZ. He is also to check out reports of something very large that is moving through the jungle.

As the two squads of opposing soldiers carry out their missions, both Barrows and Ho realize that something large and dangerous is cutting a swath of death and destruction through the region and that the only way to deal with it is to join forces.

The Killer Things is an offbeat science fiction with exciting blend of horror in which men in war gets caught up in a situation that’s enough to try their sanity as they form an alliance to deal with a horror that simply shouldn’t exist!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781490790909

Art Wiederhold

The author of more than 35 novels, Brooklyn-born Art Wiederhold has worked at several professions, including semipro baseball player, soldier, sailor, international reporter, war correspondent, artist, chef and paranormal investigator. He currently lives in a historic house in St. Louis with his wife, Rosie; their son Conrad, Rosie’s parents, three insane cats and several documented ghosts.

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Copyright 2018 Art Wiederhold.

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ISBN: 978-1-4907-9087-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-9090-9 (e)

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1   The Mission

Chapter 2   The Nightmare Begins

Chapter 3   The Horror Hits Home

Chapter 4   Convergence

Chapter 5   First Contact

Chapter 6   Different Kinds Of Beasts

Chapter 7   The Bunker

Chapter 8   Cornered And Deadly

CHAPTER ONE

THE MISSION

Dawn.

Lieutenant John Barrows stepped outside the Quonset hut and watched as a Kiowa scout copter passed over the camp. It veered left and headed north over the mist shrouded hills in the distance. Seconds later, it vanished into the haze.

It was just another morning in Nam.

The night had been quiet. Charlie stayed in the shadows of the jungle on the other side of the shallow, winding river and minded his own business for a change. Things usually stayed quiet for a while after Charlie got his nose bloodied.

Barrows watched as the camp chaplain, Father James Flynn, the unit chaplain, left the smaller hut that served as a makeshift chapel and walked toward him.

Morning, LT, Flynn said.

Morning, Padre, Barrows said. You’re up early.

I couldn’t sleep, Flynn said.

Me neither, Barrows said. I don’t sleep good when things are quiet. I always expect shit to hit the fan. That’s how Charlie operates. He keeps us on edge and tries to wear us down. Too bad for them I don’t wear down easy.

Flynn smiled.

None of the men at Fort Nowhere wore down easily. Most had been there for three or more years. All were volunteers who made up a specialized company of brothers in a unit and camp that didn’t officially exist.

Hell, the camp wasn’t even on any maps and there was no unit designation for the men stationed there. According to official Army records, they didn’t even exist. None of this mattered to any of the soldiers. They were a forward camp with two missions.

Their primary mission was to protect the friendly people of the village just outside the gate from the Viet Cong. The villagers feared and detested them and were delighted to have the Americans there.

Their secondary mission was to patrol the opposite bank of the river and maintain contact with the Montagnards who lived nearby, especially the Sedang. Both groups watched each other’s backs and played Hell with Charlie.

Four days earlier, a group of Sedang scouts under the command of a Special Forces-trained warrior named Ben, had spotted several dozen VC gathering in an abandoned village some seven miles from the camp. Ben sent two of his fastest runners to Fort Nowhere to report this to Barrows. As usual, Ben had provided the exact location and coordinates. Barrows relayed their message to Major Drum, the camp commander. Drum contacted HQ in Pleiku and asked for an air strike. Twenty minutes later, a squadron of F4 Phantoms left DaNang and pummeled the village with rockets.

The plumes of dark smoke and incendiary flashes could be seen from the camp. The F4’s made two passes and put on a quite show before returning to Da Nang.

Barrows took a platoon out immediately after to mop up only to find that the Sedang warriors had beaten them to the punch. At least 20 VC heads were mounted on wooden poles and their bodies had been stripped of weapons and ammo. Barrows counted another 22 charred bodies amid the smoldering wreckage of the abandoned huts.

Ben and his people smiled and walked over to them. Barrows shook his hand.

No survivors, LT. As usual, Ben smiled.

As usual, Barrows smiled back.

The Montagnards never took prisoners.

Neither did Charlie.

Or the soldiers at Fort Nowhere.

Both sides understood this, too.

It was that kind of war.

Barrows stretched and yawned as he watched several other men step out of the nearby huts. Most greeted him. He nodded and looked up.

By then, the dull purple sky was in full retreat before the bright bands of gold and orange. Barrows already felt the humidity rising, as it did every morning. In the Central Highlands of Vietnam, heat and humidity were part of your daily life—along with late afternoon rains and mosquitoes.

At night, you could hear them crashing into the mosquito netting around your bunk. There were high pitched buzzes followed by thuds as the mosquitoes turned into tiny kamikaze pilots. Some got through.

And you never got used to them.

Or the other creepy crawlers that called the jungles home.

When it came to insects, Vietnam was like something out of an old horror movie,

The snakes were another matter. Out of 100 species of snakes in Vietnam, 99 were poisonous. The deadliest being the one the soldiers nicknamed old two step because if it bit you, you’d be dead before you took two steps.

Then there were leeches, tigers and other indigenous wildlife that made Vietnam what the soldiers called interesting.

Barrows smiled as he thought about a certain young reporter who had been with them months ago. He was a kid from Brooklyn and to everyone’s surprise, he fit right into the unit like he’d been part of it his entire life. He also fit in well with the people. He’d taken the time to get to know them and learn their customs. As he did, he understood why the men of Fort Nowhere had volunteered to stay.

He once wrote that Vietnam’s greatest treasure was its people. He was right.

They heard someone yawn and turned to see Ken Johnson emerge from the hut. He scratched his left arm and grinned at them. Johnson had been in the tower half the night, watching the perimeter. He was one of the newer men in camp, having arrived along with two others as replacements less than four months ago.

They were all green when they arrived. Now, they acted like they’ve been there most of their lives. You learned to adapt quickly in Vietnam. Or you went home in a body bag.

Morning, Johnson said as he ambled over.

You look like shit, the LT said.

Thanks. I appreciate it, Johnson smiled. I’m heading to the mess hall for some coffee. Care to join me?

Don’t mind if we do, Flynn said.

The mess hall was seldom used. Most of the men ate in the village. Li’s café was a real favorite. But the large coffee urn was up and running 24/7. On Sundays, some of the local ladies would come into the camp and cook breakfast for the men. The camp had no cooks and nobody wanted to be bothered with cleaning up afterward.

The village women also cleaned up around camp, burned the shit from the latrines, laundered the men’s uniforms and even made new ones for them when the old ones wore out. The men chipped in each month to pay them for their services.

Other services were provided by the young women at Maggie May’s House of Pleasure. This was also a favorite among the men. The ladies were beautiful, clever, clean and very good at what they did.

When they arrived, Lou, Randy, Cruz and a few other men were already drinking coffee. They greeted each other as they filled their cups.

Damn! This tastes like paint! Barrows said as he winced. Who made this shit?

Damned if I know, LT. It was already set when we got here. I don’t think anybody wants to take the blame for this one, Cruz said.

You can cut this shit with a knife, Johnson said as he watched it virtually ooze into his cup.

Are you sure you want to drink that? Simmons asked as he watched him sniff it.

I gotta die from something, Johnson said.

At least you’ll be good and embalmed after you drink that, Simmons joked. What time does Li open up?

She should be open in a couple of hours, Barrows said.

I can hardly wait, Simmons said as he sipped the coffee and shook his head. This is sad.

It should keep us wide awake, Randy said. This is like Cajun coffee. It has to be strong enough to wake the dead.

It is that! Flynn said. As I recall, didn’t a certain young man like it this way? He used to drink it like it was nothing.¹

Yes he did, Randy said. He said that he never really drank coffee until he got here. After he tried it, he still wasn’t sure if he really drank coffee.

He said it was a cross between motor oil and heavy paint, Flynn said.

He’d really like this! Barrows said.

I’ll give him one thing: he wasn’t afraid to try different things, Randy said.

Yeah. He especially liked the women here, Barrows said.

Two of them, anyway. Too bad how that turned out. We were all pulling for them, Flynn said.

I was kind of worried about him when we picked him up in DaNang. I didn’t think he’d make it here when the shit hit the fan. Damn, did he ever prove me wrong! Randy said.

I’m glad he did or I wouldn’t be here now, Johnson said with a smile.

A few us wouldn’t, Barrows said. He fit in with us from day one. It was like he’d been a combat soldier all his life.

Flynn smiled as he took a swig of the brew and winced.

Wow! This is more like paint stripper! he said.

You think maybe you can bless it or something to make it taste better? Barrows asked.

I don’t that prayers can help this, Flynn said. Hell, this stuff needs an exorcism!

They laughed.

It’s been quiet the last few nights, Johnson said. We didn’t see a thing moving out past the wires.

That’s what worries me, Barrows said. You guys better walk the perimeter—just in case.

Will do, Simmons said.

Each morning, they walked around the outside of the camp to make sure the Claymore’s were still facing toward the jungle. Charlie liked to sneak up at night and turn them toward the camp once in a while. It was one of the games they played with each other. When someone in the tower spotted anyone moving outside the wire, he set off a Claymore or two and blew them to pieces. Then they’d go out the next morning and look for bodies.

Mostly, they just found spare parts scattered around. Claymore’s never left much of a person behind when they exploded.

He used to walk with us every day. He was real good at spotting Charlie when he was in the tower. For a civilian, he made a damned good soldier, Simmons said.

Barrows smiled.

I think he would’ve stayed if things had gone as he planned. Too bad about that, he said.

He hid it well most of the time, Simmons said. But I can still hear him crying in his sleep at night. He usually got good and drunk before he hit the sack. He said it helped him sleep better. I know I still have nightmares about that night.

Yes he hid it as well as he could. For a while, I was worried that he fall to pieces, but he toughed it out. I wish he was still around. I miss our talks. He had a way of making me question things, Flynn added. I was sure looking forward to their wedding. We had a nice one planned, too.

We were all looking forward to it, Padre, Barrows said. Shit. I think the whole village was.

Simmons gulped down the last of his coffee and washed the cup out in the sink.

Time for a walk, he said.

I’ll come with you, Lou said.

One hundred seventy five miles to the north and west of the camp, North Vietnamese Army Captain (Dai Uy) Ho Huong was standing in the commandant’s bunker deep inside the mountain. The colonel (Dai Ta) had just given him his latest set of orders. Ho did a double take and asked him to repeat them. When the colonel did, Ho shook his head slowly.

Are you certain of this, Sir? he asked. This is highly unusual.

This is a highly unusual situation, Captain. And these orders come directly from Hanoi. They must be carried out to the letter and failure is not an option. Do you understand?

Why me, Sir? Ho asked.

The colonel squinted at him. The squint made Ho feel uneasy.

I chose you because of where you stand politically and personally and because your men are extremely loyal to you. You have a long record of successful missions and have developed a reputation of getting your assigned tasks completed. I also know that many people in the small villages trust you, the colonel said. That makes you the ideal choice for this mission.

Ho looked at him.

One more thing: You are not to engage American units unless you are fired upon first. I want you to try to avoid any contact with our enemies if possible. You must keep your eyes on your mission and nothing else, the colonel said.

He paced for a while then stopped and looked at Ho.

There is something else, Captain. Something quite unusual and disturbing, he said.

The colonel pointed to a spot on the map on his desk. It was several miles south and east, below the DMZ.

Some of our advance units have reported hearing strange, almost terrifying sounds coming from the jungle in this region. Since more than one unit has reported this, Hanoi wants us to check it out. They feel this may be some sort of new weapon the Americans are testing. They want to know what it is and what it does. Understand? he said.

Ho studied the map.

Will we be given a radio? he asked.

No. If we give you a radio, your signals may be picked up by American units in the area and that would give away your position. No one is to know you are there. You have one month to complete your mission. When you return, I want a written report of everything you saw and did, the colonel said.

Ho nodded and saluted.

He turned and left the bunker and walked to where his squad was waiting. There were 12 soldiers in all. Ten men and two women. One was his younger sister, Loan. She was just 16 and idealistically naïve. She was barely five feet tall and some would consider her to be very pretty. She was also rather shy and modest. Why in Hell she decided to become a soldier was beyond his comprehension. He’d prefer that she stay in school.

When he learned she had enlisted, he pulled a few strings and got her assigned to his company so he could keep an eye on her. She was his only remaining family member and he wanted to keep her alive. Their parents had been killed in a house fire only the year before. Loan was at school that day and the loss devastated them both.

Even in war, not all deaths are combat-related. Life and all of its normal joys and tragedies went on as always. Perhaps that’s why Loan had enlisted. She never real told him. She just left school and did it.

She was only 17.

The NVA accepted conscripts from the age of 16 on up. The VC recruited people almost at the moment of their birth. They were nasty enough to sacrifice small children by sending them into bars and other places with booby trapped dolls. They never told these kids the dolls would explode and kill them, too.

That didn’t matter. They were more than willing to sacrifice children to further their political agenda. To