A morning in saigon

the first chapter of a story ive been working on, its from the perspective of a United states marine in Vietnam, who has yet to see combat, I hope to explore what it really means to kill for your country, and the moral conflict inside those men who served, through the story I would like to see my character progress, but for now, please enjoy the first chapter
acemaker

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1. a prick called richard

A morning in Saigon 

It was a bright, clear summer morning, and throughout the camp the mood was generally one of tense, patriotic excitement. Brightly polished helmets and boots neatly tied, I was still lying under a canopy, shielding my eyes from the sun with the palm of one hand, slowly cleaning the barrel of an m16 with an oil soaked rag in the other. Today wasn't like every other day in Saigon, no, today was special, today we would be heading out, into that deep curious alluring green jungle just outside the perimeter.

 Suddenly, my half slumber was rudely interrupted by a cold soft shadow cast over me,  without turning to look i knew who it was, Richard, christ that guy followed me everywhere, his pale blue eyes full with virgin fear, his steps quick and troubled, he worried me, its blue eyes like that the vc go for.
''Well howdy john, enjoying your little snooze?'' 
Jesus, 10 seconds in and i already wanna punch him in the jaw, its not that i don't like him of course, its just that, that unknowing innocence, that church boy smile, we all  knew the messed up crap that happened beyond that fence, we weren't idiots, we watched Cnn, but the constant flow of nicotine, alcohol and cheap Vietnamese hookers easily kept our spirits up. Yes, those girls, with their soft yellow skin, sweet innocent pink lips and sharp malevolent eyes, a month ago those same lips were wrapped around the enemy, now me, and next month probably some lucky gook again, they were like ravens, slowly circling the corpses of a forgotten battle, they didn't care with flag the rotten flesh bore, it was all meat to them.

Reluctantly turning to face him, already conceding my calm peace and quiet to his ceaseless damn attempts to start a conversation, ''hey Richard, how you doing buddy, ladies treating you well?''
Those pale blue eyes lit up in elation at my attempt at a response, ''yeah man, you know it, i swear they know somethings the devils daughters themselves would be too shy to conceive of.'' Followed by an erratic burst of chuckling at his own quip, which surprisingly made even me crease my lips in the shape of a small yet obvious smile, those pale blue eyes meeting mine, i saw the fear, but not from some dirty, half starved gook, but from me, and more than anything, confusion, he didn't know why he was there, neither did i, hell, sometimes i wonder if Nixon himself knew what the fuck he was doing,  maybe that was the moment i decided that Richard, the annoying, pestering prick he may be, would be my friend. 

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