Chapter Text
February 1966
Lincoln regrets the time when he still managed to laugh at new recruits. Sons of middle-class families who wants to return home in the first week.
He couldn't do it anymore. He wanted to discourage these poor guys to drag their boots in this goddamn mess. There's nothing good, here. No honor, no glory... Nothing.
Father James tried to do it until the day he left for Nam. The priest knew war and hated it: there were no good reason to go kill poor people in their own country. He used to think that Lincoln only looked for a place in this madman's world. He had Sammy, but Sammy had Ellis, his real son. The orphan whom was Lincoln never really felt legit even with his foster parents's love. Too much pride.
And here he was. Viet-Nam. US Army. 223rd Infantry.
Every days look the same. Rain. Blood. A chemical smell in the air. Powder. Helicopters and their deafening rumours. All this sounds filled his skull, days and nights, when he was awake and when he was asleep. Time didn't exist anymore.
The results of their missions were catastrophic. His superiors said nothing about it, not good for the morale. " They wouldn't get it, anyway ", said a lieutenant in its presence. Lincoln was Corporal, he oversees a small group of men and reports informations to the sergeants. Almost no authority but the word in front of his name was a small victory.
There's two sergeants in the unit: two bastards in their own way. Sergeant Burton, proud son of a Second World War's veteran, so patriotic that Lincoln was persuaded that he had the American flag tattooed on his ass. It was HIS war, HIS moment. Lincoln admired him, before. He was a loud mouth, a tough guy. Time proved him wrong.
The other one, Sergeant Ennemans, was in his late forty, fed up with everything and especially the sight of these young pricks who tought they were soldiers. He hated Burton. Lincoln never really knows why. Maybe to prove that he still has some balls.
They often threatened each other: martial court, decommissioning... But after all, these two morons didn't drag a lot of corpses behind them. It didn't mean everything was alright. Most of their missions consisted in infiltrating a zone, be overflowed by Viet-Cong and retreat. When they weren't shell by American strikes !
It's Burton who named him Corporal. He insisted on the fact that he gave a promotion to Lincoln Clay " in spite of " the color of his skin. " You're a godamn son of a bitch, Clay ! I've never seen a guy like you before ! You'll make a hell of a Corporal, nobody's gonna fuck with you ! How tall are you ? 6'4, 6'5 ? I'm sure you eat Viets for breakfast! " He was proud as a peacock. What an asshole.
Lincoln lost faith in his superiors. It was something terrifying. After a few months, he finally gets them right: Burton wanted a promotion, Ennemans wanted to be injured or die as quickly as possible. They didn't give a fuck about their men and were friendly with those they considered as " good american boys ". So... not his kind.
As a Corporal, his " models " gave him good examples of what not to do. He knows his men. He knows about their broken hearts, their joys, their wounds. Lalande, Cole, Vaughan, Doroquez, Osborne, Ellis, Wisinski... He spends time with them. But he doesn't want to become " the good buddy ", as Burton tried to do. A cool guy who tells how he fucked his half brother's wife to the troops but a fine eonologist with commanders. He pretends to be an idiot with these morons's soldiers.
Lincoln wanted to be a good corporal, don't give up on his guys and bring their ass to a parents or a fiancée.
His love and respect for the flag almost disappeared. He didn't fight for that reason anymore. A lot of his companions stop thinking about it. They just did what they were told to, no questions asked. Lincoln couldn't. Passivity wasn't an option.
March 1966
A pale sun is shining behind the clouds, this day of March 1966.
Burton took advantage of a stop in a allied camp to gather the group and delivers the news. He walks through the soldiers, who were slumped on their bags. The sergeant wanted to be seen and heard by everyone, even when he makes trite remarks. Ennemans, on the other hand, do not bother. Just like any other recruits, he sat on his ass and lit a cigarette.
Ray-Ban on the nose, red scarf around his neck, the Sergeant claps his hands to have the attention of his men.
" Boys, let me be blunt. Special forces need us. "
Lincoln frowns and waits for what comes next. Voices already rise, questions come from all sides. Burton ignores them all and pursues:
" Guys ! Let me finish, for fuck's sake ! Our group was chosen to be part of a Task Force. CIA and Minister of Defense's order. And I'm telling you, it's a hell of an opportunity. "
" Opportunity my ass, " chuckles Ennemans.
" Anything to say, Sergeant? "
" Yeah, I have something to say. Sergeant. You guys, will have the FABULOUS opportunity to butcher Viet-Cong... "
" Sergeant! "
Ennemans rolls his eyes and focus back on his cigarette. It was easy for Burton to shut him down.
" So, what I was saying is that we're going to another camp, further north. They need us for more... discreet missions. But, not gonna lie, we'll be surrounded by CIA's shit-stirrer. "
Ennemans grumbles, but Burton doesn't notice it. Or pretends not to.
The old bastard bawled against everything he could. Especially against what cames out of the other sergeant's mouth. But their shitty quarrel embarrassed the soldiers.
During the break, his companions pick up rations and ammunitions, treat their tired feet or get an haircut. Lincoln cleans his rifle to keep his mind occupied. A well-cleaned weapon never gives you up. He was curious about the futur of his group, for once. Something was finally happening. Special forces. He heard about it, not for the better. Especially because they were into espionage and sneaky plans. Not the most shiny side of a war.
The posters which encouraged war effort were very far, now. On some of them, a sexy girl explained that she loves soldiers, that they are the bravest men of all. On others, the " communist octopus " choked the world with its silly ideas. The one who affected Lincoln the most talked about a " family ". US Army accept everybody, no exception. Your companions will become your brothers, your superiors will become your fathers. He had picked up one of these posters and eyed it a whole night. If this poster was true, if there was a family waiting for him somewhere, he will find it.
What now? He did has a family. He didn't love all his brothers but wouldn't hesitate one second to gave his life for them. And he doesn't admire his fathers anymore.
The Revere Camp, east of Quảng Trị. It was full of people, a kind of organized chaos: men run, loaded with files, helicopters lands, orders were passed on... The machine seems perfectly rounded.
Burton pushes away those who had the misfortune to cross its path. Nobody noticed him and it was the worst thing. His voice betrayed him, he was pissed off. He catches the arm of a man already pressed by his own duty and roars:
" Where I can find John Donovan ? "
" What ? " The helicopter's blades provoked a small storm. The soldier hang on to his sheets.
" John Donovan? He... "
" Oh! You're 223rd ? "
" Yes, Sergeant Burton. There's also Sergeant Ennemans with me. "
" I'll present you, your men can come later. Come ! "
" John Donovan? Who the fuck is that ? " asked Doroquez, while both sergeants disappear in the crowd and the dust.
" Leader, maybe. Know more about it, Corporal ? "
" Not really. I tried to make Burton talk before we leave but I got nothing. Special Forces, it's serious business. " says Lincoln.
" I bet these bastards drink a good glass of whiskey while we're here... "
" You're a boozer, Doroquez, " throws Doc Webb, who passed behind him.
" Thank you for taking care of my health, Doc, even if I think you just want to resell my liver on the black market ! Shit, what are we waiting for ! We walk for 2 days and mister Burton and Ennemans... "
" Shut up, someone's coming this way... " Lincoln pinches his ear like a professor with a dissipated kid.
Ennemans leads them to a big green tent. Big enough for at least twenty men. But it wasn't a place for soldiers. It was an headquarter. Impressive. Walls were papered with cork boards, and filled with photos. Radios, tape recorders, files piled up almost everywhere... A small CIA's corner in the middle of Vietnam.
In front of a desk overflowed with maps, Burton discusses with a man. The Sergeant talks and the other one nods with a detached air. He stops the conversation and watches the group rushing into his place.
" Guys, This is John Donovan, says Burton with a grave tone. He's a member of CIA for 13 years and he's been there for 5. I can tell you that this gentleman knows the job. No more bullshit. "
Lincoln hardly believes that this man had so many experiences. He seems young, with his round face, big blue eyes and neat blond hair. 5 years of Nam? Looks like he just had a twelve hours's night and a foot massage...
" PLATOON, ATTENTION ! "
The voice burst out like a gunshot. The order froze him to the bones and he finds himself executed it without a second though. It's a reflex, registered deep into his muscles. Fortunately, his companions did the same.
Then the voice, the same voice, begins to laugh. A small, insolent laugh which came out of John Donovan's mouth.
" Holy shit, look what you did, Sergeant ! " Boo, here comes the big bad John Donovan, from CIA... " Rest gentlemen, Rest. " He still chuckles. Burton smiles, his jaws wrinkled.
" Well ... I believe that... presentations are made. Then, can you explain ... "
" Recognition, 7 or 8 men. It will be your task for now. We need informations to infiltrate networks. I'll give instructions to the sergeants. If everything's fine, you're not gonna see my mug very often. "
" All right ... Well, thank you for the precisions. "
Donovan sit back to his desk and was already working on his typewriter. Burton certainly expected a red carpet and that Earth stops turning but the agent ignored him. He says, a cigarette in the corners of his lips:
" That will be everything, Sergeant. Thank you. And welcome to Revere. "
Burton looks like someone who swallowed a grenade without pin. The thing was deep in his throat, ready to explode. When they all leave the tent, Lincoln heard him curse: " What an asshole, that one ! Who stuck me with that moron ! "
Ennemans laughs boldly at Burton's misfortunes. Lincoln wanted to do the same but the face of his companions dissuaded him. They shared the sergeant's embarrassement, as stupid as he was. They are on unknown territory and their welcome gift was a bad joke.
If his companions decides to hate John Donovan, he'll follow the movement. But it would be a lie to say that the agent hadn't pricked his curiosity. Only a bit.