SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

ATTN: COLONEL ADAM LEONARD — DIRECTOR, UNEXPLAINED OCCURRENCE DIVISION.

YOUR EYES ONLY

SUBJECT — DISAPPEARANCE OF EPSILON TEAM, NORTH OF KANDAHAR, AFTER TRACKING ENEMY INSURGENTS TO UNDERGROUND HIDEOUT.

SURVIVORS — 1: LANCE CORPORAL PAUL BROWN, MEDIC.

REPORT: After non-response from Epsilon Team for thirty six (36) hours after their last communique, a second squad was sent to investigate. They found Lance Corporal Paul Brown of Epsilon stumbling through foothills some seven (7) kilometres south of Epsilon Team’s last known whereabouts. Brown was wearing nothing but ragged underwear and his helmet, raving and largely incoherent, his left arm below the elbow was just bone, no hand, the flesh stripped away presumably by acid or a similar agent. His body was covered in various other wounds, some similar to his arm (though none as severe) and others clearly made from impacts, falls, scrapes, etc. He carried no gear except a flashlight, which he pointedly refused to relinquish. He made almost no sense except one phrase, repeated over and over: “Never let it out! Never let it out!” Current assessment by psychologists suggests Brown may never recover his faculties, but therapy has been started. His extensive injuries are being treated and are responding satisfactorily.

We’re still trying to establish further facts but are preparing an incursion squad to Epsilon’s last known whereabouts. Due to your standing request to be informed of any unusual occurrences, I am sending this wire. Our squad will be entering the cave at the last known location of Epsilon Team at 0800 tomorrow, the 14^th, should you wish to accompany them.

Please advise.

END

They Own the Night B. Michael Radburn

PART ONE

“It is only the dead who have seen the end of war”

Plato

The jungle has a presence. Sergeant Carl Fisher sensed it on his first tour of Vietnam two years ago. Now, nearing the end of his second tour in-country, he knew the jungle more intimately than anything back home in the States. It was a living thing, dark and secretive, a sprawling mass of ancient deep-rooted life. It can either protect, or kill, without prejudice. And it can hide things… for centuries.

It says a lot about a man who finds more meaning to life during war, than back home in downtown New Orleans. For a Southern black man, army life can be a whole lot easier than tending bar in the Blues quarter for minimum pay plus tips. Back home Fisher was nothing. A shadow; a noise; a memory. But here he was something; here he was Troop Sergeant of an armoured reconnaissance squadron, the thinking man’s armour, the spearhead of the main battle tanks and self-propelled artillery units of the 1^st Cavalry Regiment. Travel by night and spy by day. Panther Troop. First in, last out. Yeah, life here was easy once you learnt to respect the one fundamental rule.

We own the day, but Charlie owns the night.