A North Vietnamese regular soldier.
Two of them.
Three.
And close by now.
Very close.
Rambo squashed down as much as he could inside his depression in the ground.
Not yet.
Not yet.
They were in his sights.
He had them all within his sights.
Now.
Rambo rose from his hole and opened fire.
There were thirty of them, more or less.
The Vietnamese at the head of the column lost a piece of his skull and the one right behind him fell to the ground with a hole in the head.
All of the others immediately ran exactly under the little embankment Rambo had filled full of explosives.
Rambo then squeezed his M16 against his chest, threw himself face-down inside his hole, then pushed the claymore's switch three times.
While doing that, he didn't even think about dying.
He didn't think about anything at all.
He just hoped that his enemies died.
All of them.