Night Flyers by John Beechem

It was six days after the rain stopped. Six days later, but a cough still lingered in my chest, digging its ragged claws into my throat, struggling to get out even at the worst times. On the trail, in the dead of night with the claymores pointed at whatever fresh hell might be coming at us. If I let even the quietest one escape, I’d hear six filthy curses hurled my way in hissed whispers that cut through the dark. So I learned to swallow every scratching breath until the dawn came.

But that night was different. We had Xuan with us, for one thing. He was ARVN, sent out from Da Nang to help us enforce curfew. We took him deep into Quang Nam, letting people know that anyone we found after dark would be treated as NVA or VC and smoked accordingly. He was a little guy, barely five feet. But he knew how to fight. Kept an M1 on him, and loved to use its bayonet whenever he got the chance.

Howie was in front of me. I could barely see over his shoulder, even when he was crouched. And Xuan was behind us. I could feel his beady little eyes staring into me. But I didn’t mind having him at my back. God help anyone who might come up on our rear.

The rest of us waited. It was a sick feeling, just staring ahead, eyes darting into the foliage every once in a while, just waiting for a twig to snap. Waiting for anything that might push someone’s fear too far into the abyss, until the jungle exploded into a white hot mess of bullets and shrapnel.

And that’s when it happened. I felt the frog leap up my throat, and before I could force it back down, its croak broke the silence.

“Goddammit, Rooster—“

But Howie’s words were lost in a concussive fire that ripped through us from both sides. They’d known we’d be waiting for them. That whole village must have been crawling with VC, but by that point in the war, you just had to push through the paranoia and hope your luck would last until the end of your tour.

So without thinking, I pulled on my trigger, pointing at a muzzle flash that lit up the dark. I found a fallen tree trunk to crouch behind and heard the screams and cries of everyone around me. A grenade thudded to the ground, and I rolled away, but not in time. It tore through my right calf and I felt my adrenaline fight a losing battle against the pain, my gut sinking into my bowels as a ragged cry escaped my lips.

Howie pulled me off the ground like the goddamn All-American he knew himself to be, all six and a half feet of his muscly frame hoisting me onto his back with one strong arm as he fired into the night and ran with me back up the trail, who knew how many clicks away from Firebase Charlie and the warm, smothering embrace of our commanding officers.

Xuan was hot on our heels. He caught up fast, my jangling mass slowing Howie down. I looked in Xuan’s eyes, white and glistening, pupils wide in the darkness, swallowing up whatever slivers of moonlight it could. He stared back at me for a brief moment. I felt his fear then, the fear of whoever might have been mad enough to pursue us. It was a fear we shared.

Howie grunted, as Xuan slowed down to keep pace with us. The gunfire’s staccato rhythm slowed its tempo the further we got from it. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, filling the void. I felt myself grasp the faintest hint of relief from the naked terror that had clutched my heart, but then the snap of a rifle came up from behind us. Xuan turned and fired in one graceful movement before any of could even think to seek cover. The firing ceased. Whether the shooter had died or fled, we never learned.

* * * * *

Xuan ripped through the bandage and tied it in a quick knot. A few red drops had crept through its first layer. But now that the wound was covered more fully, the outside was dry. For now.

“How’s it feel, Rooster?” Howie asked in a low voice. As far from the trail as we were now, there was no need to whisper.

“Fucking hurts.”

“Lucky you heard it land,” Xuan said. “If you had not rolled in time, it would have shattered your tibia.”

“Yeah, lucky.” My sarcasm dripped. “No radio, half-lost. Me wounded. We don’t even know if anyone else survived.”

“Well…yeah. That was one sorry, goddamned mess.” Howie kicked a rock from the trail. “But we’re not one of them sorry sons of bitches.” He paused, and I heard a grunt as if he might be holding back tears. “So we gotta get back on that trail and get to FB Charlie ASAP.”

“Can you walk?” Xuan asked. His eyes still lingered back in the direction of the trail.

I stood up for a split second, but felt my calf erupt in pain. Fuck. But then a few slivers of the pain faded away. Just enough for me to hobble one or two steps, putting almost all my weight on my left leg.

“Kind of.”

“Christ,” Howie said. “C’mere, kid.” He wrapped his left arm behind my back, and I placed my right arm above his shoulder. Strong as he was, he could still grip an M16 in his right hand. My own gun machine gun had been lost in the flight from the enemy, but I still had a pistol. Just in case.

We took a few tentative steps, not very easily in this small clearing we’d found among the trees and vines. I sensed I could actually walk a fair distance this way, but not anywhere my normal pace.

“Thanks. That might work.”

Xuan sighed, and I caught some mild annoyance in his breath. “We might be able to get back before sunrise. But it is not going to do much good if anyone any one chases after. Anyone with bad intentions, and that’s the only kind of people who’ll be on that trail this late.”

“Well, I ain’t leaving him behind. So unless you want to hoof it on your own all the way back, you’re stuck with us.” Howie adjusted my weight, and we stood a bit straighter.

Xuan looked at us both, one eyebrow cocked as if thinking about which wager to place on a cockfight or heavyweight bout. His chances alone, versus ours together. 

“Okay, all of us then.” I heard a slide and click into his M6 as he changed his magazine. “Let’s go.”

We got back on the trail, my leg crying out in agony with every step. I imagined my calf, shredded with shrapnel, weeping blood like a trail of breadcrumbs behind us. 

Moonlight pushed through the leaves of the canopy. It cast a pale glow. Shadowy fingers slithered over us like the stripes of a tiger. I could hear the calls of birds and the croaks of lizards. They seemed to mock us. 

The jungle was an endless green void ready to swallow us up. I felt so small. 

Xuan’s footsteps fell gently behind us. I kept looking into the foliage, and every once in a while, I’d catch the flash of eyeshine. All kinds of creatures lurked in the forest at night, and I wondered what was watching us. 

A sudden silence fell over us.

“Do you hear that?” Howie asked.

“Hear what?” I said.   

“Nothing,” Xuan gripped his rifle tight, knuckles white. “I can’t hear anything.”

The silence chilled my heart. All I could hear was my throbbing heartbeat.

REE!

A bat flew past, so close I could hear its leathery wings.

“Christ!” Howie held me close. “What was that?”

“Just a bat. We are close to some caves. Let’s hope that’s all that’s hiding in them,” Xuan said.

AHOOOOOOOOOOL! 

My blood chilled at this new sound. “Don’t tell me that was a bat.”

“Sounds like a goddamned howling banshee.” Howie set me down next to a tree trunk.

AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOL! 

I’d never heard anything like it before. It was some kind of beast, but it sounded almost human. Like it was a sound of mourning, of some secret kind of suffering. Whatever it was, it set my teeth on edge. Goosebumps rippled up and down my body, hairs standing on edge like soldiers called to attention. My mouth dried up.

I gripped my pistol, and looked into the sky. A patchwork of clouds hid some of the stars, but the rest were laid out before me. The moon shone like a lonely pearl. And then a shadow flew before it.

“Anyone else see that?”

“See what, Rooster?” Howie said.

“There’s something up there flying around. A hell of a lot bigger than a bat.”

“Get ready,” Xuan said. “I don’t think we’re alone.”

A hot, rushing wind came up from nowhere. Blocking the moon, I saw a creature beyond anything except the wildest reaches of human imagination. It was floating, hovering about fifteen feet from the ground. Covered in short black fur, it had a vaguely feminine figure. I couldn’t see any features of her face, but it had glowing red eyes. And from her back, large black wings spread out, ones in the shape of a bat’s.

There it was. Like some kind of freak-show Batman come to life. I was frozen. Locked in place. A deer in headlights; the phrase came to mind when I looked back upon this moment. 

RATATATATAT!

Howie fired beside me, straight into the creature, but it didn’t fall. In the flash of the gun, I could see the rippling muscles of its abdomen, but nothing happened to it. No wounds. No sizzling fur. How could this even be happening?

I pulled the trigger on my pistol, feeling my body rock slightly back into the tree as I kept witnessing the nothing. 

“Stop! Stop!” Xuan cried. But we could only hear him in seconds split between the gunshots.

The bat thing dove straight at Howie. He raised his arms reflexively, and the creature tore Howie’s gun from his hands and through it deep into the forest. Hovering for the briefest moment, she stretched her right arm toward him and left three deep gashes in his forearm. 

“Fuck!” Howie roared, and fell backward. 

Xuan crept up behind the bat thing and seemed to gently throw something at her. I caught a glimpse of light reflected through whatever it was. Some kind of liquid maybe? The bat thing hissed and flew away. 

“Howie!” I got up and stumbled toward him.

The gashes were layers deep. I could see bone and tendons through his left arm. The right had been spared. Howie groaned, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. I lay next to him, and did my best to create a make-shift field bandage.

Xuan kept his eyes up to make sure our attacker wasn’t returning. 

“What was that thing?” I asked Xuan. 

“Tờ rơi đêm,” he said. “In your language, night flyer.”

In my ears, it sounded like he said “toe soy den”.

“Night flyers,” I repeated. “Toe soy den.”

“Close enough.” Xuan muttered. He took a closer look at Howie. “Do you still think you can help Rooster walk.”

“I can fuckin’ try,” Howie said through grit teeth. “But in case you didn’t notice, ‘toe soy den’ took a pretty big goddamned bite outta my arm.”

“Complain if you want to,” Xuan squatted down to our level and looked him in the eyes. “But we’re prey now. Not just to our old enemies, but to this new one.”

“That night flyer,” I said, getting up onto my right leg as best I could. “Why did it fly away? She had us.”

Xuan held a small silver glass vial before him. It fit in the palm of his hand, and there were maybe a few tablespoons in it. On its wooden stopper, there was a Vietnamese character I didn’t recognize. It looked older than the ones I was used to. More complicated.

“What’s that?” I asked as Howie stood up next to me. Somehow, he helped support my weight, and we began climbing back up onto the trail.

“You would call it holy water. It was blessed by a priest from Cao Dai Temple.”

“How many cow’s died for it?” It was an old game our platoon played with him, coming up with the worst puns we could whenever he used Vietnamese words with us.  

“None.” He was stone faced.

Now that we’d walked a few yards back onto the trail, the night sounds of the jungle slowly returned. I’d never felt comforted by them before, more annoyed when they’d hide the sounds of Charlie.

“Buddhist priests died for it,” Xuan continued. “Like the one who lit himself on fire to tell us we’re fighting this war the wrong way. No one has been spared.”

“Loony,” Howie grunted as he adjusted my weight on him. 

We walked that way for how long I didn’t know. The sky hadn’t begun to purple, and until it did, I knew we still had a chance to make it back before we were completely, one hundred percent vulnerable. At least, not to NVA or VC.

My leg began to hurt more and more. I didn’t complain out loud, but I knew our pace had slowed. I had to bear more and more weight on my wounded leg; excruciating with every step. I knew Howie had it bad too, because whenever I glanced at him, I could see he rivulets of sweat cascading from a face too pale to be healthy. I wondered how much blood he’d lost. His bandage was more blood than cotton now.

“Xuan,” I said, hoping to take my mind off my leg and Howie’s arm. “How come you fight on our side?”

He sighed. “I never thought I would. But I knew I’d be expected to.” He turned and walked backward for a few moments, checking our six as he did every thirty seconds or so. “My father fought against the Japanese. I was born during the occupation. He rose in the ranks. And after he helped free our country, our old masters flooded back in. The French. He was rewarded by them for helping return their old colony. And when I grew older, I learned French. English too. But then these communists came in. They hated our family for being collaborators with the west. We were seen as bourgeoisie. My father was assassinated two years ago. And instead of being a scholar or a diplomat, I became a soldier.”

“Christ,” I said. He hadn’t grown up poor like me and Howie. A rich kid. But if my math was right, about him being born during the last war, he must have been at least a good five years older than either of us.

“And why are you here?” he asked me. 

“Well, my dad and uncle fought against the Japanese too. And Dad actually made it back. So my folks kinda expected it of me. My grades were good enough, I could’ve won a scholarship. And if I had any fucking sense, I would have tried to get one.”

This war was bullshit, I knew, even months before I’d gotten here. I could read a newspaper fairly well, and knew the morality of it wasn’t as pure as my father’s war. Gulf of Tonkin was no Pearl Harbor, and all this hysteria about the reds was overblown. We were all more likely to end up ash in a mushroom cloud than anything else. And knowing Uncle Sam’s temper, we’d drag the rest of the world with us, if it ever came to that.

“He writes too,” Howie said. He hadn’t spoken in maybe a quarter of an hour. “Writes in his journal all the fucking time.”

“I have seen him. Are you writing a confession?” he said with a grim laugh.

“Might as well be,” I grunted, more from the realization he’d given me than the pain in my calf. “Gonna be a book some day. I’ve written short stories. Wrote for my school paper. But this war’s giving me enough characters and plot to give Moby Dick a run for its money.

“Hold on.” Howie stopped so suddenly, I almost toppled over.

“What is it?”

“The silence,” Xuan said. “It has come back. Take cover.”

We hunkered down, our guns pointed above us, even knowing what little they would do against the night flyer. At least Xuan had his glass vial, its stopper pulled out, ready to be sprinkled against whatever beast of hell we were up against.

AHOOOOOOOOOOOL!

“Christ, not again,” I muttered.

Woosh, woosh…

We could hear her wings before we could actually see her, but by then she was upon us once more. She flew just over our heads, but didn’t actually strike just yet. Almost as if she was toying with us. Xuan sprinkled a flew flecks of holy water as she flew by, but if any of it hit her, she didn’t even flinch.

As if on a dime, she turned in the air and flew back at him. Her claws reached out, and she tried to tear the vial of holy water from his hand. But he pulled away just in time, three red scratches dripping blood down his face.

Once more she turned, and this time she faced the moonlight. Her face was hideous, nose almost flat and pointed up, teeth protruding from her lips like a vampire bat, the real ones they have in South America. She dove straight toward me, but Howie pushed me aside and she flew overhead.

“Get some!” he roared as she turned around once more. 

Howie fired every bullet in his clip into her, expecting what, I didn’t know. But she reached out both arms and lifted him straight into the air.

“AAAAAAAAaaaaaaahhh!” 

His scream faded as the night flyer flew into the distance. We could see his legs dangling down, trying to kick himself free, though he would’ve fallen forty feet into the jungle canopy. 

“We need to follow them!” I said, and began hobbling in their direction. Xuan pulled me up from the back of my shirt, and then put his arm around me, holding me up like Howie had. 

In five minutes, we found him, or at least, most of him. His head was missing. I could smell the blood, an all too familiar scent I thought I’d gotten used to. But seeing Howie’s corpse, I almost retched. It was all I could do to turn away, and keep the tears in my eyes from turning into shuddering sobs. 

Xuan knelt down beside Howie and pulled his dog tags off from what remained of his neck. 

“Here,” he held them out to me. “Your commanding officers will want them.”

I pulled them from his hand and put them around my neck, clinking with my own. I don’t know why I did that–it’d make identifying my body hell. But it also seemed like a charm, like Howie was still trying to protect us.

An idea flashed into my mind. “Xuan, give me that vial.”

“Why?”

“Give it to me!” I snatched it from him and opened the magazine on my M16. I poured its entire contents down into it. It sparkled in the moonlight, illuminating every bullet for the briefest moment, like a little rain shower drenching each full metal jacket. I snapped the clip back in.

“Now we wait.”

“Wait to die?” Xuan asked.

“No. We wait to kill.”

* * * * * 

An hour later, she finally came back. The silence returned, and then the sound of hot wind smothering us from her wings. I looked down the sight of my rifle while Xuan, buried in leaves, waited to pull my weapon from my dead hands if it came to that.

Once more, I looked into her eyes. They burned like the flames of hell. I let her get so close to me, I could smell her sulfurous breath like a batch of rotten eggs squirming with maggots. Her fangs were bared. Saliva hung from her maw. And at the last moment, I saw my red reflection and pulled the trigger. Her hot blood sprayed against my face.

I heard Xuan say a few words to himself in Vietnamese. 

“Thank God,” I said.

AHOOOOOOOOOOL! I heard the terrible cry and an awful wet sound.

I turned just in time to see a night flyer with two feet of Xuan’s intestines wrapped around its snout. Somehow, he was still alive, whimpering in the darkness. I heard a snap, and then the beast sucked the dangling viscera into her mouth like a kid eating spaghetti. 

I laughed, and pulled the trigger. The night flyer was torn in half. I had maybe one burst left until the blessed bullets were depleted. 

But before I could think of that, I was upside down, hanging from my wounded calf. I felt my helmet fall off my head, my red hair whipping in the air that no longer felt so humid now that we were, what, sixty feet up?

This night flyer was the largest one yet, with a bosom as big and round as a watermelon.

I said a prayer and pulled the trigger.

* * * * * 

I woke up in a field hospital. I felt a horrible pain in my calf, but when I pulled the sheet aside to look down at it, a bandaged stump stared back at me. My head sank back into my pillow, and this time, I couldn’t stop the tears. A nurse came to comfort me, slipped me two pills and a cup of water. Downers, I knew.

Another kindness I didn’t deserve. I felt two dog tags on my neck and thought of Howie.

They brought me into Saigon after my stump had healed. I met with some spooks in black suits, probably CIA. They took careful notes, and I heard one of them mutter about a Soviet biological weapons experiment, glimpsed “Aztec mythology” on the tab of a manila folder, and then signed documents that said my life would be forfeit if I ever spoke a word about that doomed mission. 

Well, here I am, my body riddled with the cancer that infested my lungs. A middling writer that barely cracked the New York Time’s best-seller list twenty years ago, who lives off social security and a military pension, with no kids and a dead wife. 

But here is my last will and testament so to speak. In a few minutes, they’ll find me, once they hear the gunshot. Hell of a mess I’ll make, but at least it’ll be a soldier’s death. 

I just hope I don’t meet the toe soy den in hell.