Bloodlines Part 1

By C Moretz

Part one of a three part novella introducing Jonas, a teen who quickly discovers his lineage is not as ordinary as he was brought up to believe. Follow him as he discovers his "Spark" and meets adventure like none other imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C Moretz
• Release date: Nov 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310678578

C Moretz

Personal information is limited for privacy, however Author will respond to personal email at [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue

December 20, 1965

His reaction was immediate.

Outside of his cave of sandbags all Hell had broken loose. Even being woken from a dead sleep he recognized the noise. It sounded like the small compound had been hit by the whole force of the Viet Cong. His heart pounded rapidly and he coughed up the dust he had breathed in as he slipped from his cot. And, lying on his back, he slipped his boots on his bare feet. He knew where the exit was even with the confusion so he began crawling the short distance to the opening where he had left his web gear, his pistol, and helmet. He stooped to exit. He ducked down low, pulled back the netting while simultaneously placing the helmet on his head, and slipped through the curtain into the early dawn and a massive firefight; the first he had witnessed since being in country.

His designated defensive position, pointed out upon his arrival, was a mere fifteen feet from his hooch, but with the gunfire seemingly surrounding him, he felt he would never make it even half that distance. He managed, duck-walking and sometimes in a high crawl, to get to the wall of protection safely. When he got to the half-moon shaped, multilayer sandbag position he squatted and quickly tugged his laces tight and wrapped each in a quick knot. He glanced up at the voice above him. The Team Leader, a young Major who upon meeting him said, Doc, what the Hell is MACV doing sending a shrink out here with us crazies?He had told the Major that the Army was hoping to understand why some Units had high rates of shell-shock while others had few, even though the Units with fewer instances saw more combat. The Major had responded with a laugh. That’s an easy one, Doc, he said with his boyish laugh. Then something about his face changed and in an instant the Psychologist saw a deadly serious man where there had been a teenager playing soldier before. We fucking want to be here; some more than others.

Cpt. Doc Toliver looked up at the Commander who was standing tall against the mass of protection, head and shoulders above it all as if daring a bullet to strike while he spoke concise orders on the radio by his right leg. He was coordinating the Team’s fire positions while watching from a high vantage point. His weapon, an AK47 rested by his left leg. Its barrel was smoking and eight empty magazines lay scattered nearby. The Majors voice was loud but calm even with the chaos.

Keep the Quad .50 going along the perimeter! He spoke into the radio. And get the sixties on the left and right flanks. Our rear hangs off a cliff so just keep ‘em out of the perimeter. And all you motherfuckers leave the outer field alone. We got Miller out there kicking some serious Gook ass right now!

With that the Major tapped Cpt. Toliver on the shoulder and pointed over the sandbag protection. You gotta take a look so you can take this thriller back to Saigon. He laughed. Then maybe those pussies will understand shell shock. He laughed again and pointed away from their position, far from the compound.

Toliver stood slowly, looked left and then right, and gradually saw the perimeter as a whole. The big machine guns placed on the high mounds were strafing the multi-stranded concertina wire fence line. Two M60s had been pinpointing the edges, but the most extraordinary gunfight was happening about two hundred yards from the wire. A single Team Member, introduced to him earlier in the week as Sgt Jonas Miller, was in full-speed , animalistic attack mode, coming up from behind the enemy whose numbers were near one hundred as far as the doctor could tell.

He had never witnessed such grace and ferocity in perfect combination. Miller appeared to be dancing amongst the combatants; leaping, firing, slicing, and killing all those surrounding him. He dodged left firing a carbine and as the target began to fall, used the dying man’s shoulder as a springboard, launching his own body ten feet into the air, rifle leaving his hand and pulling two curved machetes from their scabbards before landing in the middle of four more enemy soldiers. He beheaded two as he hit the ground and sliced the others across the shoulders and once more in the gut. All four fell and he was again moving, having picked up one of their AKs, pushing further into the melee.

The young doctor looked on, mesmerized. The Sergeant moved with grace, pulled weapons without missing a step, fired with a mere glance-hitting the target every time. Toliver had watched the Olympic tryouts several years past, but had never witness such physical agility and strength. He turned away from the scene when a puff of smoke from a nearby sandbag reminded him that there were Viet Cong shooting his direction as well. His quick drop from hypnosis got a chuckle from the Major who was also crouched low.

It doesn’t get any better than this, Doc! He screamed hysterically.

Toliver looked at the youthful commander and said, Have you seen him like this before?

The Major took a quick look over the sandbags and stood. The gunfire had diminished. The heavy machine guns were silent and the Team had begun selectively shooting with their M1s, picking off retreating enemy soldiers who were scattering. When he turned back he said, That kid was made for war, Doc. No, I have never seen anything like it in the last six years, even since I started wearing a beret. Then he was silent, watchful.

Toliver stood and leaned against the sandbag wall. He looked across the open field, searching for the young warrior, but could not find him in the bloody terrain. He started looking at the bodies, beginning from his left and working right, counting. The Major had moved out with the Team toward the perimeter and in the silence the Doctor wondered about this strange breed of man. The request to find an answer for psychological trauma would not be found at this site. He did, however, want to have one more important conversation before finalizing his briefing. He hoped Sgt Miller would be in the compound before he had to leave that afternoon.

1

He grabbed the paper bag from the kitchen counter along with the two nickels set out beside it. As usual, his mom and dad had been up hours earlier, each following a comfortable routine. He ran out to the small shed where his mom painted and opened the door. He paused, looking at the landscape unfolding on canvas. It’s the best, Mom. He told her. She set her palette down, walked a few steps and kissed him on the cheek. You, my growing boy, are my one and only Masterpiece.

This was their private ritual whenever he saw her latest piece of art. He smiled, turned, and ran out looking about for his father who would be in the field with the cattle. He spotted him, yelled his Bye, Dad! and waved. His father, busy with inoculations, turned and returned the wave. See you tonight! The older man yelled back. Jonas could have stayed and helped, but both parents insisted that he attend the school in town until the calving season came. Then, as with most of the young men in town, he would stay and help, as this too was part of the education in Wyoming.

The bus arrived on time and he boarded. Most of the students on the bus were younger, but he never felt the need to push his age or size. He sat in his usual place and listened to the chatter. He smiled when he heard one of the fourth graders declare his undying love for his teacher. Jonas had a crush on the same woman four years earlier and understood the younger boy’s feelings.

The trip into town was long, almost an hour, and Jonas sat quietly looking out his window at the passing meadows. Spring had come early and the grass was lush, cattle filling their bellies after a harsh winter. He was looking forward to the upcoming weeks and the time off from school helping his parents with the birthing of the new calves.

Classes drug along and Jonas kept, as always, to himself. He always felt like he had nothing in common with his classmates. Those his age had interests in business, some talked of college in Cheyenne, and others talked only of football. Although