This is my first story i have written, I hope you enjoy it =). Sorry about the length, i realize it isn't a short story, but neither is it a full-length story, so I was a bit confused about where to put it :p.
The sounds of war blasted him into consciousness again, though with a searing pain at his side. He was afraid to look down, afraid to see what he had lost this time.
All Charles could remember was the shooting. His battalion had been pinned down outside of the Ho-Chi-Minh Trail, bodies were scattered along the blood-soaked road. Then suddenly it came back to him, like a flash of lightning, he remembered. Gordon had been one of the Officers on sentry duty when the call came through. Sure enough, they came. There must have been 20 or 30 soldiers in total, they came out of trucks with hardened faces, you could tell there would be no mercy from them. The leader of the group wore civilian clothes, which wasn’t unusual for the time. They did not wear a single uniform which made it harder to know from foe. The forerunner spoke to the battalion, in a language none of them understood. We knew what it meant though; we’d heard it enough; “Surrender or die.”
Charles jolted upright and jumped out of bed. He then promptly fell on the floor with a loud thud.
“Hurrhhhh.” He groaned inaudibly.
He still had nightmares even though it was many years later and the war had since ended. But not for him, the war was never over; it was always a war within yourself.
The bedraggled man crawled his way to the other side of his small bedroom, looking around as he did. There were no photos of family or friends on the unadorned white walls, as he had none of those. His family had long since forgotten about him; not that he could blame them. His friends had perished long ago in an Asian jungle he had begun to call home. Charles wished so dearly he could join them, to just take a long walk along a cliff and just keep walking. But he could never bring himself to do it. Because I’m a coward, he always thought to himself, A coward who can’t take the final plunge.
Charles moved at a pace slower than even a snail, dragging his decrepit body to the wheelchair which somehow made its way over to the door without Charles seeing it. He slowly struggled into the chair and had just finished adjusting himself when he heard a high-pitched scream. Charles quickly wheeled himself to the left corner of his room where his single bed sat, ruffled and unmade with sheets laying half on the floor from where he had fallen just a few moments ago. He reached for the underside of his pillow with reflexes of a soldier and pulled out a long, thin army knife. Charles gripped his hands on the wheels of his wheelchair and thrust forward out of his small room and into the main house. The scream came again, though it sounded closer this time, Charles knew it was coming from the kitchen. He wheeled his way down the corridor and turned right, struggling to see in the darkness of the lonely house.
He finally made it into the kitchen with his knife-arm raised in an attack position. He saw something that he did not expect. Charles lowered the sharp knife cautiously as he looked around shabby kitchen. The drawers were part broken and cupboards left open. There were week old dishes lying, unwashed in the sink. To Charles, this wasn’t any unusual sight, he hadn’t the motivation to clean, he preferred to sit down on the couch and just think. What surprised the old man was that there was no one there; he could have sworn he heard screams, and he was sure that they had been coming from the kitchen.
“Maybe I am going crazy.” Muttered the old man. “Huh. It wouldn’t surprise me.”.
He decided to ponder this more on the couch. Charles wheeled himself out of the kitchen and into the adjoining lounge room. The lounge room was much like the rest of the house; undecorated and drab. The curtains were closed so no sunlight came through except for the pieces where mould had eaten away at them. Although Charles had a TV, he rarely used it. Dust had settled over the TV screen and the cabinet in which it stood. He was not a ‘modern’ man; he didn’t own a car or a mobile or one of those computer things that he kept seeing in the newspaper. Charles had a food delivery company bring food to his door, that way he wouldn’t have to face the outside world. It was strange but he felt a kind of claustrophobia when he went out into the open. He felt vulnerable and unprotected. He decided it was far better to just stay inside.
Charles lifted himself out of the chair and sat down on his favourite couch with a heavy sigh. He tried to remember the happy days of his life but found that he could not remember any. All Charles could think of was the war. How he and his men put their lives on the line for this country, not that they got any thanks for it. He remembered when the last of the soldiers that had been sent to Vietnam had returned. There was no welcome home parade.
“There wasn’t even a welcome home dinner.” Charles grumbled.
When the soldiers finally came home, Charles had still been in the hospital, fighting death and insanity.
Charles fell asleep on his favourite couch dreaming of his younger days, back when he had two legs, a full head of hair and the invincibility of youth.
Of course they wouldn’t surrender. They knew that and the enemy knew that too. The new recruit, a ballsy kid, spat in the leader’s face and said to him, “Go die in hell Commy.” Commy was the nickname given to the Guerrilla force we were fighting, the communists.
The leader was surprisingly calm as he wiped the spit from his face. He turned to the soldier next to him and yanked the gun out of his hands and with the same fluid motion, opened fire on the kid who had offended him.
Charles and the rest of the battalion didn’t even have time to react. When those bullets started flying through the air, Charles turned and looked at the recruit, Johnny was his name. There was a presence of fear on his face, but not regret. He was defiant, right to the end. He really was too young to die, especially here in this forsaken jungle. “God help him, he was only nineteen.”
As Johnny’s limp body hit the dusty ground, both sides opened fire on each other. The enemy had the advantage though. They had more troops, advanced weaponry and knew the terrain better.
Gordon was the second casualty tonight. He had been radioing in for back-up when a stray bullet pierced his uniform. Charles signalled for everyone to retreat into their camp where they could use the terrain to their advantage. Charles’s right-hand man, Lieutenant Davies squatted beside him when they had reached a safe distance.
“We aren’t going to make it Sarge” the Lieutenant panted, out of breath.
“We still have a few men left and I sure as hell ain’t giving up.” Charles replied. “I got one grenade left and they are advancing fast so I have to throw it quickly.”
He took Davies by the shoulders and stared him dead in the eye and said without blinking,
“We got one shot. We can do this.”
“Yes sir.” Davies responded loyally.
Charles unfastened the grenade from the side of his belt, released the pin and drew his arm back. His arm launched forward with determination and let go of the round explosive. The Commy’s scattered and dived to the side of the road at the sight of the rolling grenade. Charles took this opportunity to lead his troops away from the camp and into the jungle to their left. He hoped to evade them long enough for back-up to arrive.
The Vietnam jungle was a dangerous place and probably not the best move for Charles to take. It was full of traps set-up by Vietnamese locals. There were landmines, bear traps and other hidden devices that would kill or seriously injure whoever stood on them.
They kept running away from the camp site until they were far enough away that they felt safe. Davies had taken the radio from near where Gordon’s body lay. He laid it out on a flat part of the jungle floor and turned it on.
“Bravo Team to base, Bravo Team to base. Come in!”
“This is base here. What’s going on?”
“The Commy’s found our camp. We managed to away but there have been fatalities. I don’t know how much longer we can hold out. Requesting immediate back-up.”
“Affirmative Bravo Team. What’s your position?”
“X co-ordinates 272, Y co-ordinates 149” Davies said looking at the map.
“Roger. We’ll be there soon in 10. Base out.”
Charles and Davies both sighed with relief. The remaining troops looked just as relieved.
The battle wasn’t over yet though. Charles walked around their make-shift camp and scoured the perimeter. There was a thin piece of string attached to a tree. He walked towards it, thinking it was a broken trap set-up by the Vietcong. The leaves on the ground made crunching noises as he walked. When he was a foot away from the tree, he stopped. He looked down at the ground and saw with shock, a landmine, an inch away from his foot. At least he hadn’t stood on it, that could have been very bad. In the next instant, he heard a whistling noise coming from straight-ahead of him. A second later, he was propelled forward by an unseen person. He fell to the ground not a moment too soon because as he hit the ground a missile flew over him and exploded in their make-shift camp. Their troops had no chance to escape, no chance to survive.
Charles felt a weight on his left leg and looked across to see what it was. Lieutenant Davies next to him, unconscious from the fall. Charles realised that Davies was now lying on the landmine Charles himself had narrowly avoided. He struggled to get his leg out from under the weight of the Lieutenant. He then heard a sound. A tiny little click, almost inaudible. Charles heard it though and he knew what was about to happen.
Charles jolted upright and screamed.
“Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!!”
Realising it was just another nightmare, he stopped yelling and looked around the room. There was nothing there, he was safe.
He got off the couch and wheeled himself into the kitchen, drawing sharp breaths with each push. He poured himself a glass of water and drank deeply. That nightmare had taken a lot out of him. Charles put his hands to his face and sighed. Why can’t I get these memories out of my head? I don’t want to remember, I just want to forget.
He knew he wouldn’t forget though. The images of his fallen comrades were burnt deeply into his consciousness, a permanent reminder of the lives he took and the lives he couldn’t save.
The agonized scream came again. This time Charles knew it wasn’t real. He recognised it now. He dreamt about it every night. It was his own scream, after his Lieutenant had sacrificed himself to save him. Charles wept softly. Even after all those years he still remembered that day as if it had just happened. He still felt the pain of losing a true friend. He wished time and time again that it was him.
The screams came louder now. They weren’t alone however. There came a chorus of other screams, Charles recognised these too. These were the grunts and yells of pain from the men he had killed. They grew louder and louder, overpowering Charles senses. His vision began to fade, and he was remembering fragments of Lieutenant Davies death.
Davies had absorbed most of the blow but his leg was still trapped under the body of the Lieutenant when it exploded. He fell unconscious from the shock and pain.
The helicopter taking him back to Australia for medical treatment…. Doctors telling him his leg would have to be amputated and he would never walk again.
The shock of finding out that he was the only one in his battalion that survived.
Charles vision cleared and he was left feeling light-headed. He collapsed to the floor in pain.
It’s getting worse. Charles thought to himself. I really am losing my mind. I will not succumb to this. My life will end on my terms. I will not be spoon-fed by some young bloke who has barely made the transition from boy to man.
Charles knew what he must do. The voices were still there but he pushed them to the side of his head, steely determination guiding him to his bedroom.
There was a chest on the end of Charles bed. It was an old chest, almost as old as he was. It was left to him by his father when he died. It was made out of polished wood and had a swirl of patterns going around the whole chest. It was beautiful and it was Charles’s most treasured possession. He opened it and peered inside. Within in the box were expensive jewellery, old photographs of his family and a various assortment of objects that held sentimental value for him. Hidden behind his old, blood-stained uniform he found his personal handgun. Charles smoothed his hands over the coal-black pistol as if he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years. It was cold and dusty from the box which contained it. He opened the chamber and checked that it was full on ammo. He pushed it upwards and with a click it was locked back in place as he pushed it into his left-side pocket.
Charles wheeled himself down the corridor from his room, as he had done many times before. This time was different however, he knew this time, it would be his last. He turned right, through the kitchen and through into the lounge room. He looked around at the mouldy curtains and brushed his hands over his favourite, mustard-yellow couch and sighed. This had been his favourite part of the house.
He then moved to the front door which had only been used previously to bring in the food the delivery company brought. He braced himself and opened the door. Charles had to hold his hands over his eyes, the sunlight was so bright. Even though it was bright, Charles drank it in and enjoyed every second of the sun’s warm rays. For a moment he even forgot about his fear of the outside world, but then the sun disappeared behind a cloud and the fear was back. He lowered his hands down to the sides of his wheelchair and he marched onward with fierce determination.
Charles didn’t live far from the cliffs where his men had been buried. There are been no bodies, just empty coffins and a bronze plaque with names on it. The cliff overlooked the ocean and was about two stories high, it was a beautiful place, a perfect spot for the resting Bravo Company. Charles made his way there swiftly before he could change his mind. He had only visited this place once in the twenty years he had lived here; his fear of the outside world had stopped him. He looked over at Lieutenant Davies plaque, smiled wryly and said “I’ll be seeing you soon mate.”
The clouds darkened and it started to rain heavily as he pulled the gun from his pocket. “Perfect.” Charles said. “A typical change in the weather for a moment like this.” He smiled. It was the first time he had smiled in 30 long years. Charles was finally at peace. His hands grew shaky as he moved the gun to his temple. The noises in his head were softer now, as if allowing him to concentrate on pulling the trigger. He hesitated no further and squeezed the instrument of his death tightly. Lightning cracked, masking the noise of the bullet entering Charles head. The rain fell with renewed intensity onto his body, drenching his hair and clothes. This was all insignificant to him now; he was in a better place.
He was just another casualty of war.
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