A Rabbit-Tale in Vietnam

OCTOBER 1, 1969

SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH VIETNAM
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 Though the day was tumultuous with only a small brush with the enemy, the Platoon made it through the jungles without any casualties or major injuries among their ranks. At some point later, at approximately 1900 hours, the Platoon had already set up camp for the night in a small clearing, the perimeter of which was secured by barbed wire. The  camp itself consisted of five canvas tents, four for each eight-man squad and one that served as the personal quarters for the Lieutenant. Their location was stated as being several miles southeast of contested territory, the name of which none of the soldiers could properly pronounce, remember, or care to remember. To them it was the middle of “bumfuck nowhere”, as it was written on the crude wooden sign in the middle of the camp.

Inside one of the tents a black and white rabbit no bigger than a football lay nestled in a tuft of dried grass in its cage. It stared with half-closed eyelids through the bars at three of the soldiers as they sat on their haversacks around the battered record player listening to their latest imported records at low volume. They were each passing around the barrel of an Ithaca 37 and putting it to their mouths. ‘This must be some kind of game they play,’ the Rabbit must've thought as it rolled over onto its side.

Maxwell, an enlisted man of 23, let out a deep exhale that filled the immediate area with a thick white smoke. He sank back down in his seat and smiled. “Shit, that’s some magical stuff you got there,” he said to Private Borutski, who was 21 and was the owner of the shotgun and the marijuana that was lit up inside of its open ejection port, “where’d you get that?” Borutski exhaled his long drag from the barrel. “It’s a secret--command’ll have my ass if I tell.” “Bullshit it’s a secret,” said Howe, a young draftee of 19, “command’ll have your ass anyway, seeing as how this stuff is probably blowing over into the Lieutenant’s tent--and everyone else's!” The three shared a laugh. “God help us if the gooks show up now,” Maxwell said, “we’re unfit to fight as all hell.”

“Come Together” began playing after the new record was put on the turntable. The three soldiers sat and listened. “What the hell are these guys singin’ about?” grumbled Maxwell, but nobody seemed to hear him. Across the tent, the Rabbit rattled around a bit in its cage. “Hey Jim,” groaned Borutski, “I think your pet’s hungry, or somethin’.” “Oh, really?” Standing up with a bit of a stagger, Howe rummaged in one of his haversack's many pouches and produced a ragged and bruised bit of carrot which must’ve been from last week’s stew from back at the mess hall. “Here you go, little man,” Howe said gently as he lay the carrot next to the Rabbit. As soon as Howe turned his back on the cage, the Rabbit pounced on the carrot and--with fanged teeth--bit into it and began to suck whatever moisture remained in it until it was reduced to a flimsy brown husk; its blood red eyes glistened with zeal as it fed. There wasn’t much moisture, but it was enough to give it at least a little energy.

Upon returning to the record player, “Come Together” was almost finished, and another cloud of smoke was expelled from Borutski’s mouth as Howe sat back down. “Hey, where’d you find that bunny anyhow?” he sighed. “I found him back at the air base,” Howe explained, “wasn’t looking too good--it was real thin, like he didn’t eat anything for a while. Took him in and made him better with some leftovers from the mess.” Maxwell snorted. “The Lieutenant’s letting you keep him?” “He doesn’t even know about him!” said Howe with a bit of a chuckle. “Oh, ‘cause I was gonna say,” Maxwell replied, “if Hardass is letting you have anything at all, then that’s a major achievement!” “Right on,” laughed Borutski, “with him, we’re lucky to even get the fuckin’ chewing gum in our ration packs!” The three friends laughed heartily, which, even though it was good to keep up morale in this turbulent time, was loud enough to wake up some of their tent-mates. “Hey, be quiet, you inconsiderate pricks!” one weary soldier groused. “Sorry, Ma!” retorted Maxwell, and the three laughed again.

Some minutes passed, and the Mary Jane was stashed away safely back in Borutski’s haversack. He was now loading shells into his shotgun as Maxwell and Howe checked the munitions for their M16s. “Clips are full.” said Maxwell quietly. “Didn’t you read the manual?” snorted Borutski, “they’re called ‘magazines’ dummy!” Both him and Howe chuckled. “Whatever.” mumbled Maxwell as he settled down onto his cot. No less than two minutes later when they had finished unlacing their boots, they heard the pained cries of men outside, followed by voices calling out “Di chuyển lên, di chuyển lên!” (Move up, move up!) “Leo lên trên cơ thể!” (Climb over the bodies!) “Giết người Mỹ!“ (Kill the Americans!) followed by the sound of rapid gunfire and shouting from all around.

Yanking on their boots and grabbing their gear as fast as they could, Borutski and Maxwell and the rest of the squad tore out of the tent; Howe went to join them, but he turned to the rabbit’s cage for a quick moment. “I’ll be back soon kid.” he said with a quivering pat on the rabbit’s head. ‘Are they fighting again?’ the rabbit must’ve thought as it watched Howe run out of the tent.

“WE GOT DINKS ON THE WIRE!” shouted a soldier outside, and he let fly with short bursts from his M16. Vietnamese soldiers armed with AK-47s and battered Mosin-Nagants were pouring in from a body-ridden and bloodied portion of the barbed wire and were taking potshots in all directions. One US soldier from behind the cover of a jeep opened fire and caught one enemy soldier in the chest. Borutski smashed in the face of a groaning enemy with the butt of his shotgun, and then finished him of with a point-blank shot to the head, turning the face into a messy red gristle. Maxwell and Howe had fixed bayonets to their M16s (without the order from their Lieutenant) and were slashing and jabbing at various Vietnamese, who tumbled onto the ground writhing and screaming. Just then, a *THOOOOOOSH* sound came from the brush-line to the right of where Maxwell and Howe stood. Thinking fast, Howe shoved his friend to the ground, but he was too late to move himself...

*KRA-THOOOOOM!*

An RPG round detonated just five feet away from where Howe once stood, and only three feet away from the tent they were just in, which had caught fire and was burning fast. The caged Rabbit inside looked around frantically for a way out, and eventually nosed the the latch open on the cage door. It leaped out and bounded for the burning exit, searing its little rear end as it hopped the flames. Outside, the gunfire and shouting had somewhat ceased; the enemy had left the area, but there were still soldiers running to and fro. Bodies lay scattered all around the area. The Rabbit looked around for an escape, but the only thing he found was a familiar face.

Howe was lying on his back, his face frozen in an expression of agony. He was covered in large, bleeding wounds and most of his left arm and chest was mangled. There was no doubt in the Rabbit’s little mind that he was dead. A wail came from a few yards away from Pvt. Borutski: “THOSE GODDAMNED GULPERS GOT JIM!” The Rabbit bounded toward a nearby rock, and peaked around to find Borutski sobbing against the heavily damaged jeep, all the while being comforted by a dirty but very much alive Maxwell. “He saved my life--our lives--by giving his up, John! We’ll not forget what he did!” Maxwell said as he embraced his comrade. “WE AREN’T FUCKIN’ WORTH HIS LIFE, ADAM! NOT US, MAN!” Borutski sobbed.

The Rabbit knew that there was no longer a reason for him to be here. With the last of whatever energy he had, he turned tail and ran. He cleared the gap in between the barbed wires and bounded into the dark jungle.

It was a long way back to Da Nang...