Death. He’d seen so much of it, and this battlefield was no different. He was numbed to the bone by the freezing rain from the heavens, much like his soul was numbed to the core from the sight of so many bodies stacked so high. He blinked slowly, holding his eyes shut for a couple seconds just so he wouldn’t have to see the bodies around him. Yes, he was numbed by all this slaughter, but this made it no easier to deal with. He felt his tenuous thread to reality breaking. It was silent to the world around him, but it felt and sounded like a pillar of stone breaking in the middle and falling down upon his head. How much longer could he deal with this? How much longer would he have to go about killing and say it was his job, his duty? How much longer would he have to carry this rifle around? It, like his hands, were so stained and drenched and heavy with blood and stank so badly of it. 2
“John,” a voice said from behind him. He turned to see his platoon’s lieutenant, his CO, standing behind him. John stood casually and didn’t salute; couldn’t give the man away as an officer, the man who’d ordered him to kill so often. 3
“Get some men together, John, and clean out some of these huts, make sure none ‘a them fuckin’ slant-eyed bastards are around.” 4
John gave his usual answer; the required answer; the ONLY answer. 5
“Yes sir.” 6
He grabbed a few men together and they went through the small village, checking each hut. The first one they walked into was a sight John didn’t want to see. A baby, its head gone and its body burnt black lay on the floor on its belly. Its mother sat on the floor with it, not touching it, just staring at it with a blank look on her face. Flies swarmed around the tiny corpse despite the fact it had probably only been dead for an hour or so. John turned his head down and away from the corpse and fought back two stinging tears. A baby, he thought, my God, they killed a baby. He lifted his head back as a corporal came up and said the place was cleared. They went to the next hut. 7
At first, they saw nothing in the hut; nothing worth paying attention to anyway. As they walked out, part of the floor opened up and a man jumped out and fired upon the group. They’d missed a trap door; an oversight on John’s part. His buddy next to him, a man named Cory, was hit in the back of the head. He fell to the ground instantly, dead before he even hit the dirt. John saw this and wanted to react, wanted to do something. His body felt sluggish, and his brain couldn’t seem to get moving right. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been here for four months, but he knew it felt more like four years. 8
A shot rang out and John was finally able to turn around, just a few seconds too late to get the kill, to add to his total. The attacker’s mangled body lay on the floor beside the trap door, and Cory in the dirt next to John. He turned to see who it was that had fired; a man named Derik. He’d always thought his name was spelled rather oddly, but he didn’t think about that right now. 9
“Derik, take Cory and get him out of here. Take two men with you and go,” he said with actually feeling like he’d said it, as if he were in a dream and this wasn’t reality. 10
“Yes sir,” Derik said. He and the two men grabbed Cory’s body and headed back to the choppers. John took his remaining two men and checked the rest of the huts. All clear. 11
Everyone flew back to base in their helicopters. “Let the fuckin’ villagers deal with their damn village,” the lieutenant had said. They arrived back at base and everyone headed over the barracks, John included. He told his lieutenant that Cory had been killed; the lieutenant didn’t say how, just accepted it and said, “Well, he was a good soldier. We’ll get someone to replace him.” 12
No one could replace Cory; nobody could replace anybody, not really anyway. Not in John’s mind. He wanted to scream at the lieutenant, “Please, just ask me what happened! Ask me why he was killed, tell me I’m a bad sergeant so they won’t need me anymore so I can get the hell out of here.” But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He simply couldn’t leave his guys here, no matter how he felt about it. No, that just wouldn’t work. 13
Everyone was debriefed and told they’d done a good job. “A good job?” No, it wasn’t a good job, John thought. He’d lost another man, and it was all his fault. How much longer could he deal with this, this fact that, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t do this any longer? He was spent through and through, but the military thought he could still be useful. So he kept going, hardly even a member of reality any longer. 14
He went to his bunk and lay on it, staring at the ceiling. He’d cried before, in the first month or so upon his arrival here. He’d lay here and cry for hours without making a sound and nobody ever bothered him, never said anything. They’d seen it before and gotten so used to it that they didn’t even bother anymore. That was alright; John didn’t want anyone bothering him. Eventually, he closed his eyes and felt himself drifting off to a dreamless sleep that he knew wasn’t sleep at all, but merely his brain mercifully shutting down, if only for a little while... 15
CHAPTER TWO 16
He was awakened to the sound of explosions and gunfire outside. He shot up in bed and looked around frantically, but did not move. What the hell was going on? He must’ve slept too long. 17
A soldier ran over to him and started shouting as John simply stared at him, a black a man who’d John that he’d grown up in Harlem all his life; a guy named Terrell. 18
“Yo, we under attack man. Get your shit and get out there with us,” he yelled. 19
John stared at him and again felt that want, that need to take action, but his body felt like it was made of lead. He finally jumped up after a couple seconds, grabbed his rifle, ammo, and helmet, and followed Terrell outside. He was back into his rhythm; back into the mode of killing mercilessly. 20
Under attack? That just didn’t seem right. How could they be under attack? This was their base for Christ’s sake, nobody could attack them here. At least, not during the day. It was still day, wasn’t it? 21
As he got outside, he clearly saw that it wasn’t. The sky was the blackest he’d ever seen, and with the exception of an explosion somewhere, he could hardly see. He ran over to the nearest bunker and dived in. All the machine guns were taken. Fuck. He positioned himself between two gunners and fired with his rifle, ignoring the shells from the gunner next to him bouncing off his shoulder, not caring his rifle was having virtually no effect. 22
Two hours later, the firing had finally ceased and everyone slowly came out from their positions. A patrol was organized; John and five other men. John looked for his lieutenant. “He’s dead,” a soft-spoken private told him. John processed this and then took his men on patrol. He went on point himself; at this point in time, he didn’t really care much about what happened to him. They got to the perimeter of the base and then walked around inside the fence; no one cared for going outside it. 23
There was a sudden movement outside the fence and a shot rang out. John felt like someone had just punched him in the side and he instinctively moved his hand to the spot. He felt no pain; not at first anyway. He pulled his hand up and saw it completely covered with blood. He felt a sort of numbness come over his mind, and he realized he was going into shock. The men around him managed to hit the attacker and kill him, but John was oblivious to this as he fell to the ground and pain suddenly bashed into his senses. 24
He screamed in pain as the shock quickly wore off. He writhed on the ground on his back as white-hot pain coursed through his body, then his mind, and finally his soul. 25
“Oh God, oh shit, oh shit, I’m hit!” he shrieked as someone called for a medic and the men around him tried calming him down. He couldn’t calm down though. This pain had touched something deep in his very being; that nearly forgotten cockiness of a newly arrived corporal in country was shattered. He felt so alive now from the pain, but he hated it. He hated it and he just wanted the pain to stop so he could go back to being First Sergeant John Samuels. 26
But it wouldn’t stop. Much as he wanted it, much as he tried to will it to, the pain didn’t go away; it seemed only to worsen. He kept screaming and shouting and writhing, wanting nothing more than to go home now. He called out for his mother, for her gentle touch and kind, loving eyes, and suddenly, the image of her face and the pain was gone as he mercifully slipped into unconsciousness. 27
He awoke to the sound of a voice saying his name, almost like a calling. Was it his mother? No, no, it couldn’t be, his mother was so much gentler than this voice, this voice sounded like a command as well as a calling. 28
“John...John...John, can you hear me? John?” 29
He wished the voice would go away. If he was waking up so he’d have to face reality without his mother there, then he didn’t want to. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to taken from it. 30
Almost involuntarily, however, his eyes opened to see a man in a white coat with red stains standing over him; a doctor. He looked tired and worn, but his eyes still seemed bright and hopeful. John slowly focused his eyes on the man’s face. Why was a doctor staring at him? Why was he here? 31
“You’re in a hospital,” the man stated simply, as it reading John’s thoughts. Had he melted down? What the hell was going on? 32
“Why?” was all he could manage. 33
“You were hit while on a patrol, according to the guys that brought you in.” 34
It all came back then. Yes, he remembered it. Going on patrol, getting hit, that horrible pain... 35
“The bullet damaged one of your kidneys pretty good. It’ll take some time to heal up, and you’ll have a scar on your side, but for you, this war’s over. You’re going home soldier,” the man said with a slight smile. 36
John’s brain lit up at the sound of that. He was going home? He was leaving? He didn’t know what to think about that. It was great he was leaving, going back home where nobody would shoot at him on a daily basis or try to kill him, but what if his guys still needed him? What would happen to them with him gone? 37
The doctor seemed to read his thoughts once again and said, as he was leaving and drawing the curtain around his bed closed, “The guys at your base are fine. They told me to tell you that, and that they’ll be okay, and they just want you the hell outta here so you can enjoy life outside of war. For now, though, you just get some rest; you’ll be flown home tomorrow afternoon.” 38
Rest? Yeah, he could definitely do that; he already felt exhausted as it was, and so had no objections when sleep wrapped around him and led him away to a peaceful place, a smile on his face as he felt what his buddies had said enter into his heart forever. 39
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CHAPTER THREE 41
The sound of the plane’s four jet engines filled his ears as the plane touched down in Hawaii. He looked around for a moment, wondering why they’d landed. Then he remembered; they had to re-fuel and take off again in another couple of hours. He, along with the rest of the passengers, was free to get out for a little bit and explore the place. Not that he wanted to, though, or could, for that matter. No, he just wanted to sleep peacefully once again, without his nightmares and other terrible visions to be his only companions. He wanted to get home and see Sarah and kiss her, hug her. He wanted to see his parents, who were probably worried sick over their only son’s condition. 42
He sighed deeply and shook his head slightly. So many things he wanted, but like with everything else, he had to be patient. God, how he hated being patient sometimes! 43
He sat back a little in his seat and closed his eyes, intent on falling asleep once more. His dreamless dreams were like Heaven compared to how he used to sleep. He felt himself slipping into non-reality, when he suddenly heard the prettiest voice ever, besides Sarah’s. 44
“Hi there. What’s your name soldier?” he was asked. 45
He opened his eyes once more and looked over at the source of the voice. He saw a woman he took to be about his age, 20, who did not have military fatigues on. At least, they weren’t like his. He recognized her as a nurse; he’d seen her once before, ironically, he thought, on the flight over, though they had not spoken, and she hadn’t seen him. As he studied her face, he realized that, like Sarah, she was very beautiful. Then again, every American woman he saw seemed beautiful compared to some of the native women in country. He also realized he’d been staring for some time and hadn’t said a word. 46
“Hey, you gonna say somethin’, or just stare at my pretty self?” she teased. 47
He smiled a bit and looked away, blushing some. Gosh, where’d that come from? He hadn’t blushed or felt embarrassed in ages, it seemed. He’d never had the need to be, not with his buddies anyway. 48
He shook his head and stuck out his hand. 49
“John...John Samuels, First Sergeant,” he finally responded. 50
She smiled and shook his hand. 51
“I’m Terry Clark, Army Nurse, as you can probably tell.” 52
“Yeah, I figured. I’ve seen you before, on the flight over here, oddly enough.” 53
“You sound like you got some education in you. Most of the guys I’ve seen don’t talk nearly as good as you, and I ain’t much better,” she said, chuckling a little toward the end of the sentence. 54
“That’s right. I got a couple years in college done, but I wanted to fight, so I dropped out and enlisted, and now, here I am,” he replied with a wry grin. 55
“That’s cool. Where you from?” 56
“Sarasota, Florida. You?” 57
“Downing Springs, in Michigan. Just a little town, hardly shows up on the map.” 58
“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to live in a small town like that.” 59
“Well, shoot, then come and visit some time after we land.” 60
John reached over and gingerly patted his side. 61
“’Fraid I can’t, not anytime soon anyway. Gotta let this heal.” 62
“Well no shit, that’s what I meant.” 63
The two laughed and talked for a while longer. John felt almost nostalgic; at least this person could understand him, what he’d been through, and the pain he’d felt and experienced, without the two ever having to bring up any of their experiences. She’d probably through her own kind of Hell, and he could feel nothing but admiration and respect for those in the medical part of the military. After another hour and a half, the plane took off and the two’s conversation ended, if only for a little while. He wondered what the States were like. He’d heard rumors of people protesting the war, especially after that huge attack during Tet, just two days before. He thought they were being foolish; they had no idea what was going on there in the first place. He hoped his Sarah wasn’t like that. She just couldn’t be. Then again, who knew what people were like? He had no real proof; he’d just have to find out for himself. 64
He set all of this aside for the moment and concentrated on going to sleep. There was no point in tormenting himself over questions he had no answers for. He felt himself finally slip off into sleep as the plane leveled off, having no idea of the new challenges and pain that lay ahead.65
CHAPTER FOUR66
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The safe, quiet prison of his room was something John always relied on, could always count on. It was safe because there, nothing could harm him. It was quiet because there was no shouting, only peace.68
It was a prison because he used it to shut himself off from the world.69
Not that that was a problem. Fantastic things that only existed in his mind outside his room came to life in these four walls. Soundless, life-or-death battles between imaginary good and evil soldiers could rage on for days, and sometimes had no clear-cut winner. Sometimes the bad guys won, and other times, it was the side of good that claimed victory. 70
71
His parents could never really understand what went on in there, but then again, they never tried to. They’d simply ask, “What’re you doing in there? Why did the bad (or good) guys win?” or “How come nobody won?”72
John never really had an answer, not even in his extreme youth, when the first battles started. As he got older, the battles became more elaborate, more sophisticated. He played out his own raging thoughts with four-inch action figures and his mind, and as always, the battles ended in one of the three ways. He never knew why, but he knew he loved watching them battle. He loved creating the stories behind them, some of which were simple, such as a princess getting kidnapped from one side. Others were incredibly complicated, such as someone getting assassinated because the two sides wanted him dead and started a war to cover that fact up. He loved going through the stories and battles, making up things as he went along. Sometimes the princess would fall in love with her captor and they would both be heartbroken when he died. Other times, one side would betray the other, revealing the plan behind the assassination that started the war, and the war would then go from being a cover-up to all-out savagery between the two sides. He loved, when it came to it, to ending the battles, to deciding just what would happen. Distractions and intrusions were rare, and he always ignored them until he saw fit. The battles were everything.
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