On the far horizon, Cambodian troops slogged through the marshy ground, leading a ragtag band of troops on. The men behind the Cambodians were mercenaries, representing five different nations.
The mercenaries were almost universally dressed in boots, camouflage pants, and tanktops. They carried a hodgepodge of personal weapons, making logistics a nightmare. The band was in search of Khmer Rouge guerillas.
A band of Khmer Rouge guerillas had attacked a pro-Prince Sihanouk village, to keep them from voting in the election. Government troops were dispatched in UN vehicles, despite diplomatic protests.
They chased the Khmer Rouge into the jungle, where they ran into a minefield. Four soldiers were killed, and twelve were wounded. The new government decided to put an end to the guerilla attacks. They hired ex-U.S. Army Special Forces to train the government soldiers, then hired mercenaries for their soldiers to lead.
It had proven effective, but it was growing increasingly unpopular. They had dealt the Khmer Rouge a serious blow, but the Khmer proved more resilient then anyone figured. Plus mercenaries were expensive. There were even rumors that they were collaborating with the Khmer in smuggling opium.
The government had been using mercenaries since 1994, after the UN supervised elections. Some of the mercenaries had been here since they began the policy, two years ago.
The mercenaries complained their wages were too low, the equipment they were provided was archaic, and the conditions were subhuman. The military commanders worried that their troops might begin to sympathize with them.
However, that, or the Khmer Rouge, was the last thing on their mind at the moment. The Cambodians were thinking about what the villagers called the area: field of bones.
It was an are of many battles. The villagers stated that those who died there were doomed to fight there forever. The Cambodian troops had laughed heartily at the time. Those superstitious villagers! Did they really believe that? They laughed then. They weren't laughing anymore.
The mercenaries were only concerned with where their next paycheck would come from. That, and how soon they could leave this Godforsaken, mosquito infested country.
Everyone's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, staccato burst of automatic weapon fire. Up ahead, fifty yards away, partially concealed in the foliage was the Khmer Rouge. The forest erupted with the mechanical roar of automatic weapons, and men shouting.
The government troops began to advance rapidly on the rebels. The mercenaries advanced more slowly and methodically. The government troops had taken murderous losses, but they were closing with the Khmer Rouge irregulars.
Then the volume of fire from them began to increase. They were pulling out.
One of the mercenaries noted with disgust, "Shit, they're getting away."
Another observed gloomily, "There go our bloody paychecks."
Yet another said, "Don't worry yourselves a bit. Me mates got a couple tricks up our sleeves. Give those little yellow kaffirs a pounding they won't soon forget."
A few mercenaries were beginning to move in a hook to catch the jungle irregulars, and trap them. Without warning, the heavier staccato roar of a machine gun helped drown out the chattering of the automatic rifles.
Then two explosions shook the jungle. Several Khmer Rouge guerillas were thrown into the air. The mortars gave off a soft but deadly phutt-phutt-phutt. Then a triple explosion ripped through the jungle, and several combatants.
The fighting was so intense that nobody noticed the creeping ground fog swirling around them. Nor did they notice the dropping temperature. The battle was interrupted by the howling of jet engines.
It sounded like a 747, except for a peculiar whining note. Every eye turned toward the sky. A huge, dark shape filled the sky, and blotted out the sun. The howl of eight engines shook the heavens.
Then the B-52's bomb bay opened up, and began disgorging 750 pound bombs. Everyone threw themselves to the jungle floor. The ground heaved. The sky exploded. Then it was over. The smell of foliage and high explosives was cloying, with a faint undertone of the coppery smell of blood.
The survivors stood up. They all looked dazed. Several were bleeding from the nose and ears. Without warning, the staccato rattling of AK-47s resumed. Several Cambodian troops and mercenaries were mowed down before they even realized what was happening.
North Vietnamese soldiers in their khaki uniforms and pith helmets moved into the blast area. Suddenly, they began cocking their heads. The others cocked their heads. However, since most of them had their eardrums ruptured by the B-52 attack, they couldn't hear much.
Faintly, those that could hear heard the whup-whup-whup of helicopters. Streaks of fire raced across the sky, and explosions ripped into the area where the Vietnamese were. Several Cobra gunships with Zuni rockets stuffed under their stubby wings appeared on the horizon.
With a loud whoosh, a telephone pole sized SA-2 surface-to-air missile raced out of the foliage. It raced across the sky, and blotted out one of the Cobras.
An AC-47 gunship, a converted World War II vintage C-47 Dakota transport, appeared. It flew in a counterclockwise corkscrew, fire spitting from the miniguns on the left side. Then it left, while the Cobras stood sentinel, to see if any more SAMs would emerge. None did, though 90 millimeter recoilless rifle shells continued filling the air.
After a minute, the troop carrying Hueys began moving in. The Cobra gunships began riding shotgun for the Hueys, providing supporting fire for them. Then troops began to pour out of the small helicopter armada.
The Americans wore patches identifying them as either the 4th Infantry Division, or the 3rd Battalion of the 8th Infantry Division. The Vietnamese were all from the 40th ARVN Regiment.
"What the bloody hell...?"
"Damnit! Don't just stand there! Get moving!"
"What's going on?"
"C'mon! Let's move!"
"Get in quick, before the Vietnamese bring those mortars to bear!"
Three explosions ripped through the ARVN lines. The South Vietnamese troops began to panic and scatter. Cursing loudly, some of the Americans broke off to rally the South Vietnamese.
They were interrupted by the sound of horns. A line of French troops in blue, and carrying the French Tricolor emerged from the mist. When they were a hundred yards from the battle, they stopped. An order was given in French. The troops fixed bayonets on their long rifles. Then they began charging.
The Khmer Rouge, and the North Vietnamese poured fire into their lines. Frenchmen fell left and right, but they kept coming. The enemy lines began to waver. Cambodian, French, and American troops began moving in a pincer movement to envelope the Khmer Rouge and the North Vietnamese.
An American said to the French commander, "Thanks, Frenchie."
The Frenchman responded, "Oui, monsieur."
The South Vietnamese and the mercenaries, seeing the tide of battle turning in their direction, began to regain their confidence. They also threw themselves into the fray.
Then all Hell broke loose. With a shrieking cry, Asian soldiers in grey uniforms burst out of the bush. Their leader brandished a sword. Overhead, they heard the mechanical drone of piston powered airplanes. A couple planes swept low over the battle scene, the red balls on the wings highly visible.
"Mother of God! Those are Japanese planes!"
"What are the Japanese doing here?"
"Why not? Everybody else is here. Why not let them join the party?"
Tholy, Anamese, and Khmer troops in costumes that predated contact with Europeans began pouring into the area. They killed each other and the other combatants with equal imputiny. The battle quickly degenerated into chaos.
Someone shouted, "At least it can't get worse!" He spoke too soon.
With a loud trumpeting of their trunks, warriors on battle elephants charged into the melee. This was greeted with a hail of flaming arrows. This caused the elephants to stampede.
Handlers on their elephants took spikes, placed them at the base of the collective skulls, and drove them home with hammers. The paralyzed and dying elephants fell over, crushing several men beneath.
Now, the foliage was ablaze, and the frenzied fighting had reached a peak. Overhead, the air began to swirl counterclockwise, quickly forming a funnel. It engulfed the fighting, taking up the survivors, and leaving behind the dead.
When it had gathered them all up, it disappeared, taking them with it. Then the scavengers began picking over the rapidly decomposing corpses. Soon, only bones were left. The smell of a charnel house reached up to the high heavens. Aceldama was satisfied.