No women or children. A phrase that helped define Johnathan Wolfe's life and career as an agent for the U.S. government. In the line of duty he has been forced to defend himself against female aggressors but he has never carried out an elimination of one.
August 1974...Vietnam
"Good luck, Wolfe. See ya at the pickup point in thirty-six."
"Thanks, Valkyrie. Don't be late." Wolfe exited the Huey and hid in the tall grass until all was quiet. "This should be easy; check for V.C. movement within a five mile radius, map it if possible, then leave. At least I don't have to rescue any diplomats."
After twenty four hours the job was better than half completed, no significant sightings. An occasional patrol but nothing worth checking into. "Maybe I can get some fishing done before pickup..." Smoke trailed across the wind and caught Wolfe's attention. Not that smoke was unusual in Vietnam, but it was close. "Suppose it's worth checking."
After about twenty minutes he was at the source of his curiosity. I think I'm going to be sick! It was a village, completely engulfed in flames. That wasn't all; the air was now thick with the scent of death. Human flesh burnt to a crisp, farm animals shot for sport. Screams of young women being violated and old men dying filled the air.
"Where are they? Where are you hiding them?" an American lieutenant screamed at an elderly woman. He repeated the question in Vietnamese; she replied frantically. She had no idea what he was talking about. "The young men, weapons, supplies, VC! Where are they?" Again, she had no idea what he was talking about. The report of a pistol echoed off the surrounding hills.
This must end. Wolfe realized there was nothing he could do for this village, but no others would suffer the same fate. Ten men, special forces. Highly trained men... future corpses.
He inspected the remains of the village. Nothing was left alive. So this is why they call us baby killers in the states. A handful of pshycos out of thousands of good men. This is their last killing spree. Wolfe thought grimly as he stalked his prey.
He waited until the unit settled in for the night. Fast asleep, how precious. Two sentries and eight sleepers. Whack the guards first to give the rest a good thrill. The guards were posted at the north and south lines of the camp. Wolfe approached the guard in the north. Quietly and methodically he crept towards the unaware G.I.
Using his heightened sense of hearing he had studied the Lt.'s voice, which he now imitated. "Hey, soldier, got a light?"
"Sure, Lt. Where you at?"
"Right behind you, asshole." With one motion Wolfe grabbed the confused young man from behind, covering his mouth with one hand and thrusting three razor sharp blades into his chest cavity with the other. The other was dispatched just as easily; both died before well before they hit the ground.
The berets awoke the next morning. "Who is the sorry son of a bitch who slept through watch?" The sgt bellowed. He answered his own question when he looked up and saw two bodies hanging in the trees.
"Who is it?" The Lt demanded.
"Rollins and Murphy, sir."
"Well, cut them down, find out how they died."
"Yes sir..." A private found the rope holding the bodies aloft and cut it. An explosion rang out through the trees.
"Man down! Medic!"
"Where did that come from?"
"It was a claymore, sir, attached to the rope holding them up. Berg is dead!"
The Lt. looked at his men. "Get ready to move! We're out of here in two minutes! Daniels, radio for a dust-off. I want a huey in the nearest clearing yesterday!"
"Sir you better see this..." The radio equipment was now nothing more than an empty box, cut open and hollowed out like a pumpkin at Halloween.
"Equipment check!"
Each soldier's report was the same. Ammo gone, weapons empty. Only the Lt. had a functioning sidearm. "Ok, everybody watch your backs, we're moving now!"
You go now, boys, I'll be right behind you. Wolfe moved through the brush without a sound, tracking his prey much like his namesake, waiting for the correct moment to strike. You, I know you. The smell of blood and sex is strong on you. You're next asshole.
Within an hour, the soldier became careless. He was also paranoid and thinking to himself, What the fuck? It's the V.C. They're pissed because we whacked one of their supply stops. They won't dare attack us in broad daylight.
With his mind wandering he didn't even hear the rush of wind behind him as Wolfe grabbed him and dragged him into the jungle. "Hi corp. Deakes, I'm your Veterans Benefits Association representative. I'm sorry, but your benefits have been revoked, and so have you..." Pain, and then darkness. Too quick if you ask me. Wolfe thought to himself. Next victim, please.
"Lt.! It's Deakes, sir; he's missing."
"Well, find him, you idiot!"
After a short search, they found the remains of their fallen comrade.
"Look at this, sir." The sgt. pointed out three very clean, precise cuts over the heart. "They go all the way through. What kind of knife does that?" Before anyone could venture a guess, gunfire burst from the trees above. "SCATTER! EVERYONE MOVE!" Four men went down immediately, another was hit in the shoulder and stumbled on. Wolfe moved from tree to tree in pursuit of the wounded man. Holding his injured shoulder, the soldier was in a blind run.
Wolfe dropped directly in front of him. "Time to die!" A head rolled through the grass and the body slumped to the ground. "Rot in peace, you waste."
The Lt. was the only one left. He was running for his life through thick brush and dodging low branches. Wolfe was right behind him. Unable to run any further, Lt. Mathis dropped to his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Where are they?" he wondered aloud.
"He...not they."
"Who said that?"
"Your tormentor, dumb ass."
Lt. Mathis drew his weapon and fired in the direction of the voice. An object hit the ground, and he scrambled over to it. "A monkey? Seven shots and I killed a damn monkey!"
"You should be nicer to the native wildlife. But that's too much to ask, considering how you treat the natives."
Mathis turned around toward the source of the voice and came face to face with the disembodied heads of his men. "Who are you? What kind of man could do all this?"
"What kind of man could let his men do what these men did to that village yesterday? What kind of man could join them doing it? How does it feel to be at the mercy of someone who will show you none?" Wolfe dropped from the trees in front of Mathis and grabbed him by the throat. A look of horror filled Mathis' eyes. Wolfe placed his fist under the Lt.'s chin and extended a blade on either side of his face...and smiled.
"Why are you doing this? You're one of us, for God's sake."
"Wrong...I'm not one of you. And not even God can help you now." The body shuddered and then dropped as Wolfe punctured the Lt.'s brain with his third blade.
Twenty one years later...Washington D.C.
"Where are you going, dad? We leave for Japan in two hours."
"Just going to the Wall, Kameron. I'll be back in a bit."
Later at the Vietnam Memorial Wall, a package was delivered to the caretaker's office. It contained ten sets of dog tags and a note.
To whom it may concern,
These men were killed during the last days of the Vietnam Conflict. They did not perish in battle, but were executed for the complete and total destruction of a village in the name of sport. Their names should not be allowed to remain next to those who deserve to be on the Wall. This is their payback.