This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/PageTurner627 on 2024-02-22 23:03:10.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

The dusk settles over the village with a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional distant cry or soft murmur. We gather around a smoldering fire, its light casting long shadows that dance across our faces. Each of us lost in thought.

Lâm breaks the silence, his voice heavy with doubt. "Are we seriously considering this? Marching into a CIA black site? This is suicide. Even if we make it inside, what then? We're outgunned, outnumbered."

Hung, ever the optimist, chimes in. "Why not go up the chain of command? Report this to our superiors, to President Thiệu even. They can't possibly condone what's happening here."

I shake my head, the bitterness of my laugh surprising even me. "You think the CIA is doing this without Thiệu's knowledge, or even his blessing? We go to our commanders with this, and we'll be silenced before sunrise."

The weight of our isolation settles in. It’s Văn who breaks it, his voice a low growl. "Then let’s hit the fuckers where it hurts. Those bastards massacred our men. Left us for those... things. I say we give them a taste of their own medicine."

Lâm finally nods with a heavy sigh. "Fine," he concedes, "but we're not going there to play heroes. We find the boy, and we get out. That's it. No detours, no vengeance runs." His eyes meet each of ours in turn. One by one, we nod, an unspoken pact formed in the firelight.

Hung frowns as he checks his ammunition. "If we're doing this, we're gonna need a hell of a lot more firepower than what we've got," he mutters.

Tuyết, who had been quiet up until now, stands abruptly. "I can help with that.” Without waiting for a response, she strides away from the fire, motioning for us to follow.

She leads us through the remnants of the village, her silhouette a ghostly figure against the backdrop of destruction.

A dilapidated hut looms ahead, its structure a skeleton of what it once was. The roof sags dangerously, and the walls are pockmarked with bullet holes. Tuyết pauses at the entrance, her hand resting on the frame.

With a determined push, she opens the door, revealing the dark interior. A musty smell, the scent of earth and decay, wafts out, greeting us like an old, unwelcome friend. We step inside, our eyes adjusting to the darkness, the beam of a single flashlight cutting through the shadows.

Tuyết heads to the far corner of the hut. She kneels, brushing away layers of dirt and debris, revealing a trapdoor hidden beneath. With a grunt of effort, she pulls it open, unveiling a narrow staircase that descends down.

We follow her down, the air growing cooler as we descend. The staircase ends in a cavernous space, the walls lined with shelves that groan under the weight of their cargo. Our flashlight beams dance across crates stamped with Cyrillic and Chinese characters.

Tuyết doesn't hesitate, prying open the nearest crate with her machete, revealing an arsenal of neatly arranged AK-47s.

The other crates are filled with a guerrilla's treasure trove. RPD light machine guns, RPG-7s, and crates of ammunition sit alongside boxes of grenades and satchels of explosives.

Lâm whistles lowly, impressed despite himself. “Goddamn…”

"These were meant for a different fight…" she says with a hint of irony. “But they’ll do the job.”

In the flickering shadows of the hut, we set about our grim task with a silent efficiency. The air is thick with the smell of oil and metal as we inspect and load the weapons.

Tuyết demonstrates the use of an RPG to Hùng, who watches intently, nodding his understanding. Lâm and Văn are hunched over a map spread on the floor, plotting our approach with meticulous care.

I stumble upon a small box slightly separated from the others, its contents obscured by a thick layer of dust.

I wipe off the dust and pry the lid open, revealing a Makarov pistol nestled within its confines, alongside a spare magazine and a worn leather holster.

I eject the magazine, checking it, before sliding it back in with a satisfying click. I thread my belt through the holster, securing the semiautomatic at my side.

We paint our faces with camo colors, the green, brown, and black streaks hide our features and blend us into the jungle's heart.

"We'll move under the cover of darkness," I declare, tracing a route with my finger. "Avoid the main paths. They'll be expecting that."

Văn nods in agreement, his eyes scanning the terrain marked on the map. "We'll need to be silent. No gunfire unless absolutely necessary."

—

We gather the villagers at the mouth of the tunnel. Their possessions, meager remnants of shattered lives, are bundled in makeshift carriers. The children clutch tightly to their parents' hands, their small figures shadowed in the dimming light.

Tuyết steps forward, her figure bathed in the soft glow of the lanterns we've handed out, her voice steady as she addresses the huddled masses.

"We're going to do everything we can to bring back Lực and to put an end to this horror," she says, her eyes reflecting the flicker of the lantern light. "But if we don't return in 48 hours, I need you to head to Mỹ Sơn. The village is a day's trek to the west. It’s your best chance at finding safety."

—

Under the cover of a moonless night, we set off towards the heart of darkness. The jungle around us is alive with unseen creatures, their eyes glinting in the darkness, watching our every move. We can almost feel the presence of the undead, lurking just beyond our sight, drawn by the scent of the living. The soft murmur of the Thu Bồn River guides our path.

As we draw closer to the drainage system, I signal for a halt, crouching low behind a thicket, the rest of the team mirroring my actions. Through my binoculars, the drainage system looms ahead, its entrance obscured by overgrown foliage, a dark maw waiting to swallow us whole.

A lone guard tower stands sentinel over the entrance, its silhouette stark against the starlit sky. The solitary figure of a sentry, manning a .50 caliber machine gun is visible. His posture is relaxed, unaware of the eyes trained on him from the shadows.

Tuyết slips forward with her scoped SKS in hand. She finds her position, a natural hollow that offers both a clear line of sight and camouflage. She settles in, her breathing controlled, waiting for the right moment.

The distant thrum of a CH-47 Chinook approaches, its heavy blades cutting through the air with a sound like rolling thunder. Tuyết's eyes narrow, her focus absolute as she aligns her sight with the oblivious sentry.

As the Chinook flies overhead, its noise overwhelming the jungle's nocturnal chorus, she exhales and squeezes the trigger. The shot is muffled by the helicopter's roar. The sentry collapses without a sound, his body slumping in the tower, unseen and unheard.

We fan out, shadows melding with the darkness. Our movements are specters on the wind.

Văn moves with a predator's grace, his steps barely disturbing the underbrush as he advances towards a small outpost, a flicker of light betraying the presence of another sentry. The guard is a young man lost in the monotony of his watch. Unaware, he steps outside, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Văn waits, patient as stone, until the guard's back is turned. With a swift motion, he closes the distance, his hand clamping over the guard's mouth, stifling any cry as his other hand drives a combat knife deep into the sentry's chest. Văn's blade finds its mark again and again. The guard collapses, his blood a dark stain on the earth.

Lâm and Hùng, operating as a pair, advance towards another vantage point, their movements synchronized. They come upon a sentry, with his pants down urinating, oblivious to the danger creeping up behind him. Lâm signals to Hùng, a silent command that is received with a nod.

Hùng circles wide, flanking the sentry, while Lâm prepares his garrote, a lethal length of piano wire. Lâm strikes, the wire snaking around the sentry's neck, pulling tight. The guard's hands claw at his throat, desperate for air that won't come, his struggles futile against Lâm's relentless grip. Hùng is there to support, ensuring their victim makes not a sound as he's eased to the ground.

Meanwhile, Tuyết and I move towards the drainage system entrance.

The entrance is guarded by one last sentry, his posture lax. Tuyết motions for me to hold, her eyes scanning the area for any unseen threats. Satisfied, she nods, and we proceed.

I take the lead, my knife ready, the metal cool and reassuring in my grip. The guard, lost in thought, , whistles a tune to keep the oppressive silence at bay. With a swift, practiced motion, I'm upon him, my blade finding the soft flesh beneath his ribcage. He gasps, a sound choked off by my hand over his mouth, his body tensing in shock and pain.

Tuyết is beside me, holding him down. It's over quickly, the guard's struggles ceasing as his life ebbs away, his body gently slumping to the ground.

With the perimeter sentri...

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