Extinction Horizon

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Operation Burn Bright started off with a smooth insertion. Lieutenant Brett and thirty-one other Marines jumped into the fray, fast-roping from the crew compartment of multiple UH-1 Huey choppers hovering fifty feet above the drop point.

The stink of the jungle filled Brett’s lungs as soon as his boots hit the ground. They’d been dropped on the outskirts of a swamp, and the rot lingered in the sultry air.

Brett gagged at the smell and promptly clenched his jaw shut. He moved with his lips sealed and was careful not to swallow any bugs when he was forced to open his mouth and bark orders. Vietnam was the worst place for someone that suffered from a borderline case of obsessive-compulsive disorder. There was simply no way to keep good hygiene in the jungle.

Breathing through his nostrils, he led his men slowly into the knee-deep water in a wedge formation. Every few steps he would pause, scan the area, and then flash hand signals to advance. The men were experienced enough to know they should maintain combat intervals. Enough of them had seen buddies die from clustering together and forming double targets for the enemy.

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