Peters could hear the rumble of his tanks in the distance over on the rise to his immediate left, he imagined the engine smell, and noise crowding out his senses.

That was part of the reason for the flanking force. Not only was it USMC doctrine, but it served his upstate New York woodland honed senses to be away from the noises and smells. He needed to tune in to guide the men.

You don’t lead from the front in a modern war his poppa always said in his letters. But poppa didn’t understand. He was the best. He was the best thanks to his poppa.

Trail running, spore finding, tracking and trailing. One bullet a day for his evening meal. He had grown up in tough times. If “it” was there he would find it… And kill it.

The jungle, the prey and the weather took some time for him to learn their ways.

But he was now at home. Far away from his precious backwoods homeland, nevertheless, at one with the deadly environment.

 

But this would do, he knew the tricks, the way traps were set in Kunai grass, where to double check for ankle traps and Punji sticks. He could smell an NVA if it was hot enough of a day.

There!! There it was; a mere inkling of a trail, a bent fern, a slashed frond undergoing rapid regrowth, one careless muddy footprint.

He waved the men on, they would be on the enemy quickly now.