Waziak, moved with a grace that belied his hulking frame. Fast and quiet. But not now, he limped along, angry as he had ever been. Which meant it was going to be bad for someone. Prone to angry uncontrolled outbursts he knew that, the squad knew it, but not these sonsabitches.  The squaddies were smart they left him alone, he liked that just fine. These Gooks….nope they had it coming, and he was giving it.

His preferred weapon was an M60. He lugged a m60 like it was a M-16, belts of ammo layered over his flak vest and cut off and sweat stained T. He was pissed, and wanted to vent the rage boiling up.

His momma said he was the worst blend of black & Polish she had seen. Of course, she was right, she slept with most of them in Harlem, shit, black, pollack, mick all of ‘em.

While not stupid, he was no rocket scientist, nor one of the handsome tall Harlem gents his momma used to fornicate with. No sir. He knew what his momma was.

He was not pretty, thick lipped, bull browed and angry eyed, plus had a mean streak a mile wide from his daddy; Szymon Waziak, whose only redemptive trait was a Catholic faith that meant he did the right damn thing & married his whoring mother.  He shook his head some mother.

Well that won’t kill gooks he thought to himself. He had outpaced his two squadies, or were they slow on purpose? They always last to the fighting, he need no ‘brother in arms’.

This hut had gooks shooting at him not 30 seconds ago, they had knocked the wind outta him  with a shot to the vest, plus fleshy chucks outta his left arm & right thigh. It hurt like a son of a bi#tch, and he was mad as hell.

“Fu$k it, let’s git it on man” He roared, as rain washed blood down his arm, and started to soak his pant leg. He stood, braced himself and trained the ’60 on the building, left hand guiding ammo in, right hand aiming low and tracking left to right. He faded right, seeking an angle on the rear exit. Nah, he was not smart, but he knew how to kill.

Casings tinkled in a rapturous melody of destruction that he loved, the soft ground absorbing the brass in muted silence. The cordite and smoke obscured his vision, but he could almost see them being chased down the building length. He smiled. ” Hey you! HEY!! HEEEEY!!” He shouted as two shabby short NVA, paused, turned, looked at the bloody hulk limping towards them spraying bright red flames of death, bleeding all over. They dropped guns and ran out the back stair and towards the light jungle.

” Here sh!t for brains eat this insteado dat rice ya b!tches”. Legs buckled, arms blew off, viscera splattered the lush foliage. They face planted as they ran. “DOA, DOA man..” Waziak chuckled, hobbled over and checked the broken vessels of men, then sat on the top step to the hut. Leaning back he grimaced and then sighed as he jabbed a half vial of morphine into his leg. Then before he slipped away to that calm special place, he applied rough bandages as best he could.

No point attracting attention calling for a medic. He would chill here, and admire his handiwork, let that anger ooze out like his blood. But he knew the anger would return, it would be back he knew.

Eventual his fireteam would catch up.  They’d probably take all the credit too. “Fu#k them as well” he mumbled as he eased the rest of the vial in and drifted away.