Military Doctor's Observations

Three days after we killed that Viet Cong female soldier, we were still advancing through the same rainforest, the sky overhead seemingly perpetually overcast, every blade of grass a potential enemy.

Old Peter captured two sisters who looked no more than seventeen or eighteen that night; the dry firewood in their hands confirmed their identities.

The burly Will grinned and told us that the village wasn't far away, and there should be supplies.

I knew exactly what that meant.

The screams of torture that followed at dusk echoed throughout the camp.

Of the sisters captured during the day, only the elder sister remained alive; the younger sister had reportedly died that afternoon.

I only saw Will carry the younger sister into the tent, followed by forty other black soldiers. Soon after, cries for help and screams came from inside.

Later, a black man named Wallace, who followed them in, boasted to me that when Will grabbed the girl, they all tore off her clothes. The naked girl was slender and thin; he couldn't imagine how such a delicate waist could withstand the relentless thrusting of Will's enormous penis. The girl couldn't withstand the struggles of forty men.

They touched the girl's entire body, and then the young girl cried and begged for mercy. Will pretended to agree, but suddenly thrust his enormous penis into her anus, spurting blood. Another black man, not to be outdone, shoved his penis deep into her tender vagina. The girl couldn't withstand this torment; she screamed and stopped struggling. These forty men had tried almost every method imaginable, thrusting so hard that her anus and vagina were connected in one hole, blood splattered everywhere. Her throat was filled with huge penises, and her thin body was covered in bruises and the black men's semen.

I had seen that pitiful corpse that morning; her vagina was torn terribly, her anus and rectum were protruding, her nipples were bitten off, and blood and semen were flowing from her mouth.

However, this thin girl was in a much better situation than her sister.

Bloody interrogations were naturally one of Madman Bell's forte. He hastily constructed an electrode using a transmitter to torture the girl. The girl, writhing in agony, refused to utter a word. Without further ado, Bell began fiddling with the girl's nipples and clitoris. The girl's screams immediately turned into pitiful moans, and white fluid flowed continuously down her thighs. Madman Bell didn't miss this detail; he collected the fluid in a small antibiotic bottle, grinning wickedly as he told us he was conducting a kind of collection.

Then came an even more unbearable form of torture: I could see Bell, while fondling the girl's genitals, secretly inserting his fingers. The girl was clearly inexperienced in sexual intercourse; Bell's fingertips quickly turned red, and blood flowed from the girl's gradually opening vulva.

Because she was firmly bound to the chair, her legs fixed in an M-shape, her most private parts were completely exposed, with nowhere to hide. She could only groan, drenched in sweat, the sweat dripping down her slightly developed breasts. She pitifully asked about her sister's whereabouts, in Vietnamese, which I was beginning to understand. I knew she would see her sister soon, certainly not in this cruel, war-torn world.

Bell stirred up more of the girl's love juice, then suddenly clenched his fist and shoved it into her vagina. The girl cried out in alarm, begging Bell to pull his hand out, but she clearly didn't understand the madman Bell.

He laughed as he forcefully stirred inside her, just as he had done with a rifle inside a young woman before. The girl cried out, drenched in sweat, and Bell began asking where the village was.

The girl initially refused to answer, but Bell's fist, like a demon's scythe, relentlessly struck the deepest part of her abdomen. He later said that if Old Peter had punched her once, the girl would definitely be finished.

But I wish she were already dead.

Blood began to gush from the arm of the madman Bell, like a fountain. Bell's relentless punches deepened, each one more powerful than the last. The girl's frail body swayed with each blow, and I could even vaguely see the fist-shaped bulge in her abdomen gradually rising above her navel. The girl gasped for breath, drenched in sweat, seemingly exhausted, but the buckets of cold water wouldn't bring her to collapse so quickly.

She shook her head.

Bell reluctantly withdrew his fist. I could see that the girl's genitals had become an open hole, the gushing blood staining the chair used to torture her red.

Bell took out a thick iron rod and heated it red-hot in the charcoal fire. I could tell what he was going to do, so I quickly stopped him and said to the girl in my broken Vietnamese, "Quickly tell us the location of the village, so you and your sister can go and inform the villagers to evacuate. We only need food; we won't kill anyone."

The girl struggled to open her eyes and asked if I would really let her sister go.

I said yes.

She slowly and haltingly uttered the village's location, then began to sob helplessly—the first time she had sobbed since the torture began, as if waiting for me to bring her sister.

By then, it was too late to stop her. Bell, still grinning maliciously, picked up the red-hot iron rod and forcefully thrust it deep into the sobbing girl's vagina. The girl screamed, then screamed terribly, her body instinctively twisting and convulsing. The smell of burning human flesh made me gag. Bell didn't stop, thrusting harder and loudly asking the girl if it felt good.

On his fifth thrust, the girl's head lolled to the side, her eyes open, and she died. I punched Bell in the face. Bell spat out two bloody teeth, but instead of being angry, he looked at me seriously, as if to say, "This is war."

I knew that if they went back to report, we would die.

This is war.

The so-called village actually had fewer than a hundred people; the men had all gone to war, leaving only women and children. The black men still rushed into houses, finding young, beautiful girls inside. Without a word, they pinned them to the table, stripped them naked, and forty or fifty of them took turns raping them. We were busy searching for food and didn't have time to pay attention to them. From inside the house came the girl's screams and groans, along with the creaking of the wooden table.

Then I watched helplessly as the madman Bell grabbed a young girl, stripped her naked, and shoved his penis into her anus. The girl screamed in agony. Bell did this for an hour, then, still not satisfied, pulled the safety pin on a grenade and stuffed it into the girl's stomach. Then he threw the screaming, limp girl into the pond. After a loud explosion, the water was a bloody red. The only thing left on the shore was the girl's severed, white thigh, and a breast still attached to the skin.

I walked past a series of female corpses, their vaginas pierced with sharp bamboo sticks. The teeth marks on her breasts and the abrasions on her inner thighs testified to the cruelty she had suffered.

A few trembling girls hiding in the grain barn were our only surviving spoils.

On the way back, I saw the beautiful woman, who had been repeatedly raped by forty or fifty black men, lying naked on a table behind a half-open door. Her eyes were rolled back, blood trickling from her lips, and the table was covered in her blood.

Her vagina was torn and swollen, and next to her was a bottle stained with her blood—clearly, these black men had used it to rape this poor girl.

The girl's blood flowed down her thighs to the floor but didn't pool. We opened the floorboards and found a wounded Viet Cong soldier and the girl's unborn child, not yet fourteen. I glanced at them, then silently closed the lid, covered the floor, and pretended not to notice.

My conscience wouldn't allow me to kill the two lives this beautiful girl had protected with her life and chastity.

We are not fascists; we come from a free country.

Although it all seems absurd and ironic now.

On the way back, I heard that the 17-year-old recruit who liked to collect girls' breasts had died. He had tried to cut off the breast of a woman who appeared to be dead, but she wasn't quite dead yet. She suddenly got up, hugged him, and bit him hard on the neck.

Although Bell, who later saved him, claimed to have fired at least two magazines of bullets into the woman's vagina, blasting her uterus and intestines out, it didn't save the boy's life—his arteries were severed.

There are many ways to die, and although he was eccentric, I can attest that he hadn't killed a single person since he enlisted.

We all went mad during this battle.

The captured girls suffered far more tragically than the dead; they all died before leaving the jungle—over 200 lustful soldiers took turns raping them every night. Two reportedly died of exhaustion after taking painkillers from the medics, while three others struggled desperately but were tied up and tortured to death from excessive bleeding; their vaginas were torn and swollen.

Another died of an abdominal infection; the girl was convulsing after being gang-raped when Bell discovered her. Unable to restrain himself, he grabbed a military shovel and shoveled half its handle into her vagina. She struggled for two days with a persistent high fever before finally dying.

The autopsy revealed that her internal organs had been mangled.

Of the last three girls, one died from shock, and another was targeted by the burly Will. She went into his house and never came out. Her body was only discovered when they set up camp: Will had cut off her entire vagina, including her breasts, which she had castrated herself. Will later said he did it during her orgasm. The girl had indeed orgasmed; judging from her expression at the moment of death, Will even said he was merciful by shooting her in the heart at the moment of her orgasm, so she didn't suffer.

I don't know the details of that.

The last girl was missing for a day before her body was found not far from the camp. She was bound hand-to-hand and hanging from a tree, with a thick, sharp bamboo stick inserted into her genitals. It was clear she had been tortured to death by this stick, which had penetrated deep into her abdomen. Her legs were struggling desperately, and she died in a strange position. I dare not say it was Bell who did it, because recently many people in the camp had a penchant for inserting strange things into women's vaginas.

However, this girl seemed to have been dead for some time.

We wandered like this for two months before finally leaving this jungle, leaving behind countless corpses.

I was a witness to this war; I was a medic in the unit.

The pale corpse before me had struggled desperately just moments before, but now it resembled a mannequin in a clothing store back home. Its hands were bound with vines, its body spread-eagled, face up, thick white fluid oozing from its stomach and chest. A thick, bushy branch, the most common tree branch in the forest, had been shoved into its genitals, at least half a foot deep.

Lying haphazardly around it were my newly acquainted brothers. Well, rather than calling them brothers, I'd better bury them properly before nightfall.

[The End]

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