Boots on the Ground

It was always wet. The moisture seeped into everything. Ammunition. Guns. Boots. Jackets. Bags. Field rations. Our socks were perpetually soaked through. We were wet and cold. The men were fighting off pneumonia and hypothermia while fighting the cold. It was all we could do to keep warm. Make fires when the rain stops. Rest when the rain stops. Dry off best we can when the rain stops. They came to me to complain. This wasn’t new to me. I’d fought in wars before. Seen horrors before. They came to me, called me Doc, implored me for some kind of miracle cure. I had nothing. I barely had any dry gauze. It was after this complaining we’d sit around the fire and quietly talk. It could’ve been like a camping trip if the threat of the enemy wasn’t omnipotent to us. We barely had a clue of where we were; our compasses had broken a few days ago. Making fire at night was practically a death sentence in our eyes.

We’d sleep when night fell, at least one of us on watch. It was humid, rainy. The ground was turning to mud beneath us, but that was the least of our worries, the least of my worries. I’d fought in wars before. We weren’t allowed to go into enemy territory. It was odd to me. Take out the enemy from within, not from the outer edges. Parachute into their territory. Take land. Slowly push them out from within. I wish I’d fallen asleep thinking of battle plans; maybe my dreams would have seemed less sorrowful. I had a locket around my neck in addition to my dog tags. For all intents and purposes, my friend Victoria’s picture was hiding my dirty secret. They needed men, needed field medics. I’d fought in wars before. Behind Victoria’s picture was the man with whom I left my ring. I’d spent what felt like a millennia with him, but I studied his features in the dark. Memorized them. The black and white photo turned to color in my mind. Hair like the sun, eyes like the moon. I could see his smile that started slanted but evened out. He was the one thing I was able to hold onto. That picture of him.

We had to be careful of tunnels. Of traps. Of our own landmines. Our own bombs. Of the ever-changing terrain. The villages were threats in their own right; they were masters at turning the peasants against us. We could never tell who was an enemy and who was an ally. We prayed our field rations didn’t run out before we made it to a base. The villagers could mean our death if our own stupidity didn’t kill us first. I watched the man in front of me start to lose his footing. I grabbed his arm, used my own strength to force him to stay standing. He stumbled but didn’t fall. He muttered a thanks.

Any movement was cause for concern. We crouched, took the safety off our guns, and waited to see what caused it. An animal. The wind. The enemy. Or our allies. The only sound came from the rain hitting the foliage. When it was clear it was nothing, we put the safety back on and continued walking. I kept finding myself thinking of Danny. I blamed the incessant rain. He loved the smell of rain. Rain in the spring mixing with the fragrance of flowers recently bloomed. I no longer saw the appeal moving through the jungle.

I wondered what he was doing while on watch. Was he helping the war effort? The Red Cross? The USO? I held the locket in my hand unable to bring my gaze from the dark jungle to look at it. Was he sleeping? Was he waiting in angst for any news of me? Was he okay? He has to be okay. Be okay for me, I silently prayed, so I can be okay for you. One of them came to take over, leaving my thoughts in the air. I let the locket hang around my neck as I made my way in the dark. I found a place to lay on the soggy ground. I got little sleep.

We walked, foolishly; we walked to the north. Our compasses had broken a few days prior. We thought we were going east. It was hard to get our bearings when every bit of the jungle looked the same. It was hard to get our bearings when the rain poured down like bullets. It was hard to get our bearings when we couldn’t see the sun’s path. The sound of helicopter blades in the distance took our attention away from our surroundings. We needed to be careful of tunnels. They could ambush us at any time if we weren’t being vigilant. If we weren’t watching for slight movement in the growth. A gunshot rang out. I took the safety off my gun. Tried to find where it came from. Another. I crouched as the man next to me fell. I took my attention off the trees. He was injured. My training overtook me. I sat my gun down next to me. I made myself an easy target; my own stupidity would get me killed. I pulled an extra pair of wool socks from my bag. I started tying them tight above the wound. I couldn’t breathe. There was pressure on my throat. Were our guns jammed? Did the rain ruin our ammunition? I promised him I would come back alive. I would come back. I clawed at the cord until the darkness overtook me. That darkness, I hated it. It taunted me. Why did they let me be taken? I had gotten myself captured. Would I see his face again?

I came to in a room with few others. They had tied us with rope. Taken our shoes to deter our escape. Collected our personal belongings. My one piece of him, gone. I didn't want to forget him. They tried to indoctrinate us. We could pretend only for so long. This was rehabilitation to them. During any moment I had to think I asked myself questions about him. What color are his eyes? Silver like the moon. What color is his hair? Gold like the sun. How does he smile? One side at a time, from left to right. What is his favorite place? The beach an hour away from home. It had stopped raining endlessly, but precipitation and ominous clouds were replaced with sticky heat and a glaring sun. If our pretending was seen through, we were punished—beaten or tortured—and forced to start all over again. I was useful to them because of my medical training. When they punished me for failing to conform they never touched my hands or arms. I was useful, so I lived. I would come home; I promised him. What is his favorite place? The beach some distance away from home. How does he smile? It's crooked. What color is his hair? It's...light. What color are his eyes? They're...cold...