True War

** Based on Timothy O'Brien's The Things They Carried

Darkness. Nothing but darkness. And fear. I opened my eyes to the sharp pain of 1st Lieutenant Cross' boot kicking my rear end.

"Damn it, Cross!" I yelled. "There are simpler ways to wake a man up than beating the hell outta him!"

No reply.

The heavy drapes of sleep fell back into place and that dogged dream returned. Darkness. Nothing but darkness.

For the past couple of weeks, I had been dreaming of nothing. What used to be beautiful and lush fields of memories of home—that warm hearth at the winter lodge, those gentle hugs of dear mother, that wonderful sharp smell of leather in that good ol' caddie—have now become wraiths, shadows, loneliness, vacuousness, and nothingness in my dreams. Sleep was no longer as welcomed as it used to be. Now it was dread, a ominous fear. What lay beyond that mist of nothingness? I didn't want to find out. Maybe it's that little boy I blew up when I accidentally shot that mine.

This time, a smack on the head interrupted the dream.

I mumbled, "What friggin' time is it, Cross? Its too early to get up!" I paused in my tiredness, "Probably not gonna have breakfast today again, right? Hello?"

I slowly lifted my heavy eyelids, like I would a 23-pound M-60. Darkness. Nothing but darkness. I was talking into the dark.

Hugging my basketball, as I do every night, I thought out loud, "Anyone here? Hello?"

"Shut yer trap and get the hell up, Jansen." That was Mitchell Sander. He's always acting so macho, not too bright though. He looks so silly in his tiger fatigues. I guess that's what you get for being lazy—you don't get any money. There shouldn't be any poor society in the States. Everyone is free to do what he wants to. They're all just lazy. My father always works, he's a great man. Without him, we would never have all the wonderful things we have. I wouldn't have my basketball, nor my gold ring. I don't think I can survive it here much longer. There's nothing here in Vietnam; they only have trees, disease, wild animals, and dirt. How could anyone live in such deprived conditions? Pathetic.

I slipped out of my sleeping bag and routinely checked for leeches on my skin and snakes sleeping in my bags. I found two of those revolting slugs on my arm and stomach, and promptly burned them off with the cigarette I was smoking. I brushed my teeth. Nothing like brushing your teeth. I don't see why the others don't do the same. It's disgusting not to—so unhygienic. Stupid people! Don't you know you can get cavities and tooth rot and build-up? That's so nasty! I brushed my teeth a second time, like I always do.

"Stop your brushing and get packing, Jansen," said Cross. "We leave at 04:30." Shut up, idiot. I have to brush up my lucky rabbit's foot. Can't let your luck down in this God-forsaken place.

* * * *

Green. Green. Green. Where were we? I don't know anything else, but green. I look to my right: green. To my left: green. At my hands: green. At the others: green. Where the hell are we? Can't see. Sweat constantly drips into my eyes. And the green. That's all there is to life— just green.

"Oh, look over there," I yelled. "Some brown! Oh man, beautiful brown!"

Baker whispered to me: "What the hell are ya ravin' ‘bout again, boy? Pipe down a bit, would ya? Them gooks, are everywhere you know. Don't give them another reason to shoot you—and they will, believe me. No one's gonna survive this squad, no one. Life is not a factor here..." He trailed off in his own stupid thoughts.

We had been hiking through this infested greenery for I don't know how many hours, but it seems like forever. If Hell offered eternal torture, than this is it. We missed breakfast, and I'm starving now. I think it was good ol' Kiley that gave me a Hershey's bar a while ago. Or was it Kiowa? Dunno. Don't care. All I know now is... green. Maybe it would help if I looked and pet my rabbit's foot. I took it out of my breast pocket and the sudden change in color was blinding. It's amazing how something so small and delicate can both bring luck and sooth the eyes.

"If I see you pet that stupid thing again, Jansen, I'm gonna tear it off and throw it at the gooks! We need extra ammo anyhow," Sanders said, glaring with swollen and tired eyes.

I paid no attention. He was just a stupid grunt, what does he know. I thought back to my college days—the days when civilization thrived and when we knew everything. If it wasn't for that spoiled and complaining b****, I would be in med school right now, instead of being drafted to this hell-hole. Why am I here anyway? One second, I was at home with my mother and father, eating a delicious feast with beef Wellington, fillet mignon, and caviar, and the next, I'm seeing green.... green... and red. No! Stop that, Dave. Wipe the red off. No, it's spreading. That boy is looking at me. Stop. Stop. Please stop. Father, make him stop staring at me. Help me! Get the red off.

The was a sudden BOOM and the earth shaking somewhere in far-away reality. I don't care. I just want to get out of this green. The boy is gone—the boom scared him off. Thank you, father. People are running and yelling now. The boom scared them off. Stupid grunts, it's only my father.

Pain in the skull. "Jansen, you retarted of something? Snap out of it, man." It was Kiowa. Good ol' Kiowa.

"Hey, Kiowa," I said. "Say, could you show me that hatchet trick again? That was pretty neat."

He looked at me. "Man, your head is all fragged up. Not to mention your leg. Medic!" He ran off to get Kiley, I think. I just kept on walking. Have to get to wherever we were heading to. It must be out of this green. Away from that kid. Away. Far away. Thanks, father.

A hand touched my shoulder and made me sit.

Kiley was covered in blood. "Man, look at this. Dave? Dave? Can you hear me?" He always calls me Dave. I like that. Just like Chuck did when he drove me to school everyday. "Dave, you were hit by mine shrapnel. Do you know this, Dave?"

"Say Kiley," I asked. "Do you happen to have another Hershey bar? They're darn good, and you can't get them from the drop off helicopter."

"Man, Dave. Have you been drinking enough water? Hold on, while I take out these shrapnel pieces. Ouch, these are gonna be nice scars to show to your parents." He handed me his canteen and a pack of M&Ms. They were good.

"Say, Kiley. Why are you covered in blood?"

"Oh," he paused. "Sanders stepped on that mine you were hit by and his neck was gushing when I got there. All over the place. Of course, you couldn't see that cause you were thrown back seven feet. Do you remember this?"

My mind was nothing but green.

* * * *

I sat up and saw the darkness again. My clothes were drenched in sweat and were happily pasted onto my skin. I ripped off a leach on my neck and looked around. The whole squad looked dead, sleeping around me. Man, gotta get these clothes off. Mother would never approve. But I just sat there. I tried to switch my sitting position and a sharp jolt of pain racked throughout my leg. I gave a muffled yelp of pain.

Kiowa crept over to me. It was his shift. "Hey, Jansen. How ya doing? You sort of passed out back there, this morning. Man, your brain was more fried out than a drugee's. How's your leg doing?"

"Why is my leg hurting?"

"You were hit by a mine, remember? Macho Sanders tripped on a vine, knocked his head on a tree trunk and fell on that mine, and you were about five feet away."

I didn't remember any of this, other than the incessant monotony of green. Now I welcomed the night, where green has no rule.

"You've been thinking about that kid, haven't you? Man, those things happen. Ya hear? Don't be like Strunk, when he killed that boy with the star-eye. Ya hear?"

Darkness. Good ol' darkness. That thick blanket of all things.