The McLaughlin Chronicles: An Officer and a Gentleman

There wasn’t all that much care in hiding them either. There wasn’t any covering over them. There were just piled together near a clump of trees. Anyone on the ground wouldn’t have that much of a challenge finding them. The air might be a little harder.

The next part was even harder. McLaughlin hated ordering his guys to do things that he probably wouldn’t have done himself, but the brass would probably want a body count. He set up a defensive perimeter and detailed a group of his guys to un-pile the bodies and count them. The VC were also known to take prisoners. Having men be taken prisoners, in McLaughlin, was the biggest insult to a leader. It showed the worst form of defeat. Adding insult to injury was finding out exactly who. They would have to go through the dog-tags for this.

It took a while. They counted the first group and collected the dog-tags and then went on to the next group to do the same thing. The first squad was missing three people and the second missing two. It was during the counting of the second group that the corporal who was leading the detail called for McLaughlin.

“What is it, Corporal?” he inquired.

“Sorry to bring you over here, sir,” the young man said, meaning it. “I felt that you wanted to see this.” He gestured to one of the bodies. It was a young private. McLaughlin knew him to be one of the machine gunners in the squad that he was in. The major difference between his wounds and the others was that his neck was a mess and he was pale, and pale meaning nearly white as a ghost.

“Was it the wounds?” McLaughlin asked mystified.

“The only other wounds he had was a shot in his arm,” the corporal replied.

That was an hour ago and the corporal with sharp eyes was now one of the dead. It had occurred to McLaughlin, at the time of attack, that they had been stalked on the other three trips. Noises were made intentionally to test their reactions. They practically wrote out their own death warrant when McLaughlin had ordered the helicopters in. He cursed himself for his own stupidity.

Of the thirty-three guys he had with, only six were left in fighting condition. He knew his wounds were bad, but he had seen soldiers with wounds like this fight for quite some time. He reached out for his rifle and pulled it to him. His coordination was off and he didn’t have the energy he had moments ago, but he managed to eject the empty magazine and replace it with a full one.

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