Soldier Boy

Soldier Boy

It rained every evening. At first, almost a welcomed cooling, but that feeling always disappeared after the first hour of the four or five hour downpour. Tim and Saul took the rain for granted, like the sun coming up or your buddies getting killed. War makes everything feel equal. Numb.

The rain would come later. Now, the two 19 year old soldiers stood ankle deep in puddles, steam rising from the water like spirits escaping the underworld. Their attention sharp this time of day, late afternoon. "The Killing Time". The time when the enemy, playing on their worn bodies and minds, attacked from everywhere and nowhere. They barely noticed the stench of the rotting jungle, the mosquitoes as large as rats or the various colorful bugs and snakes that randomly fell from above. Trying not to get shot or blown up has that effect. Tunnelvision.

They would not have said two words to each other had they met back in reality. Here, Tim and Saul were best friends. Still, they did not speak as they trudged through the jungle. They could relax when they reached point, and the sun began to set.

Saul led. Senior by two weeks. But senior always led. Saul had a wirey frame, the kind on a kid that you think will someday fill out but never does. He wore a Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap under his helmet and over thick matted black hair. A pea green t-shirt hung loosely from his bony shoulders, held in place by his heavy vest but still untucked. He wore an unconscious sneer on his face, the by product of years on the Brooklyn streets being cool. He looked Brooklyn, fish-hook nose, dark deep set eyes and black bushy brows. Ruggedly handsome, his girlfriend said. His buddies called it ugly.

Given that he had been in the jungle for a month, Tim appeared as neat and soldierly groomed as could be expected. Nevertheless, his rumpled uniform shirt had buttons undone past where they disappeared under his vest, his reddish blonde hair peaked out in random places from under his helmet and dirt and grime disguised his normally ruddy complexion. Nebraska farm boy with a weeks worth of beard growing on his face. He hated that.

Suddenly, the unmistakable pitter patter of a submachine gun cut through the jungle silence, and continued unbroken forty five degrees to their right. Saul pumped three quick shots with his automatic rifle, then dove into the jungle gook. Tim followed suit.

"Are you nuts," Tim screamed, his voice high pitched from adrenaline. "That could be our guys."

"Shut up, moron," Saul said calmly. "Our guys are in the opposite direction."

Tim belly crawled forward till he lay even with his buddy. They both had rifles in shooting position but did not fire. Instead, they listened. The staccato hum of insects, distant mortar fire, two rapid heart beats, and some very irregular breathing but no more gunfire. Nobody would die today. That had been a goodnight kiss so positions were not advanced. Tim and Saul obliged, staying prone, unmoving for a good hour

Not quite sundown, but on the jungle floor darkness reigned. It took full strength sun to bring light to the lowest levels of the jungle. Saul rolled over, flipped his helmet to the ground and sat on it, his back against a slimy tree. A Marlboro appeared almost magically between his lips, and the darkness vanished for a moment as he snapped his lighter open one handed and lit the cigarette.

Tim moved more reluctantly but finally crawled to a nearby tree and sat. The darkness surrounded them now, but they were not alarmed. It took awhile but their eyes adjusted to the near vacuum of light, and they saw enough of each other to relax. Saul's hands went behind his head for cushion, the stub of another cigarette dangled loosely from his lips and he allowed himself the luxury of imagining himself back at Sharkey's Bar, a girl on each arm.

Tim glanced at his apparently sleeping buddy and shook his head. The guy could sleep anywhere. A stinking bug infested jungle with his butt on a helmet and a cigarette in his mouth and he's asleep. A skill Tim wished he would soon acquire. He hadn't slept more than a few hours a night since he'd been dropped into this sewer.

"Saul. Wake up." Tim said softly. Saul muttered something that sounded like blow it out your kazoo and Tim didn't push the issue, but he wasn't about to be quiet either. "I don't want to kill people, Saul."

The words sat in the air like steam from the puddles. Saul's face was lit slightly by the cigarette and Tim watched as the thin man opened his eyes.

"Nobody, wants to, but you have to. Kill them or they kill you. Capice?"

"That makes no sense, Saul. Why do they want to kill us?"

"There are no reasons, kid. You're gonna screw yourself up looking for answers. It just is," Saul said gruffly and turned his head. They were the same age but somehow Saul seemed a lot older.

"No. No. One minute I'm working in my Da's Gas Station and the next I'm sitting in this toilet of a country. I don't even know why we're here."

Tim could see the cigarette glow brighter for a second, creating enough light that he could see the whites of Sauls eyes as his buddy turned his head. Then, almost a whisper.

"Doesn't matter why we're here. Only thing that matters is that we get out."

They were silent now. Above the jungle the day had given way to night. The stars fought valiantly to be seen but silent clouds moved in front of them blocking their shine. The darkness was complete.

"We should just take off. Go home," one of the young soldiers said, his words almost muffled by the humid air.

"If we got caught, they'd shoot us," the other one said.

"Chances are, we're gonna get shot anyhow."

They both chewed on the words as the mosquitoes bounced off their faces. This time of night had a heaviness to it, as if the air were slowly sinking and settling like mud on their shoulders.

"Maybe you're right."

"Maybe. What if I'm not?"

A gentle rain began to fall. The two soldiers, sitting on the jungle ground, lowered their heads to keep the rain out of their eyes.