Ghosts

"Charlie to alpha, charlie to alpha… come in alpha"Damn, what the fuck was going on? It was supposed to be a routine recon mission, and it started just like one. They were supposed to get in by boat, go all the way to the LZ and wait for the airborne gear. Then they were to rendezvous with alpha team two clicks north of their position. And alpha wasn't there. They saw flashes in the night, once, from a distance, and then nothing. Everything went quiet; so quiet; too quiet. As if hell was going to break havoc, you know, like this feeling, this chill crawling all the way up your spine telling you something was not right."Alpha, do you read me… alpha, come in please… fuck this shit"
The comm. Operator was a Vietnam veteran, getting into his forties, never been married. The army was his only family, and soldiering his only way and goal in life. He didn't know how to do anything else. He'd rather die than leave the deltas. Many of the new recruits just wanted to do their time and get the hell outta the army fast as they can, but the fact is, he actually loved what he was doing.
"Sarge, they won't answer. I don't like how it's all coming around sir. Something spooky's going on around here…"
"I know Danny, I know. Just keep on trying to get them on this damned radio. It's our only hope of getting out of there alive. 'cuz if you don't we're all fucked up."
"Yes sir… Alpha, do you read me…"
Sergeant Robert Kennedy, or just Bobby, was a 'nam vet too, like Danny Goodman. They actually served in the Ranger unit near the end of that awful war and since then they've always been together as part of the elite delta force special covert ops unit. Bobby, like all sergeants around the world, was like the platoon's mother, yelling at the men when he had to, and comforting them in hard times, you know, keeping up the team's morale and spirit. H was the man on whom the lieutenant, who represented military command, relied on to control the men. Well, this was true for the grunts, those dickheads fresh from boot camp who joined the marines or the rangers, but not for the elite troops. They were all issued from elite grunt units and know how to take care of their asses.
"Lieutenant… Sir, I suggest we move on and find out whatever happened to Jack's unit…"
The reply came after a while through his earpiece. They were all spread out in the woods, invisible ghosts in the moonless night, out of voice reach from each other. They had this new gadget that clipped itself to your throat. You just had to whisper and it would get the sound directly from your throat and send it all the way down to every one of the team's earpieces. If only they've had that toy back in Vietnam, along with those night-vision goggles, Hanoi would've had U.S flags floating all around the place by now.
"O.K boys, let's move out and go find those lads…"
They all knew what they had to do. They've all been in wars before. They moved out like ghosts, invisible, silent. Nobody could find them if they didn't know where to look for and even then, they'd surely be shot dead long before being able to sight one of those ghosts of death. They went swiftly and silently, stopping now and then to listen to the sounds of the night. They didn't see or hear or see each other, though somehow they knew where their mates were.
And then earth started to shake, accompanied by a familiar sound.