He sat in the small room, lying on his stomach under the windowsill. He calmly popped another clip in his gun and a wad of tobacco in his mouth. He brushed the dust off of his face and popped up, sprayed a stream of bullets, and hit the dirt again. The man next to him chuckled.
“What’s so damn funny?”
The soldier still chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
The soldier looked at him.
“You look like some fish outta water, poppin’ up and then floppin’ back down again…it’s funny.”
Rawlins spat and popped up and took a knee, emptied his clip, and fell back down.
“There you go again…”
He looked at the soldier as he stood up, clutching his M1 as he hopped the wall. A loud spray of bullets ripped across his chest, and he fell, smoking, to the ground. Rawlins wriggled back from the window, took out a grenade, and lobbed it in the general direction of the machine gun fire. The explosion shook the surrounding houses. He began to stand before he got back down and instead hoisted up the broken leg of an old chair and felt it fly backwards as it was peppered with, yet again, machine gun fire.
“Well darn…”
He jumped up and saw the gun’s flash before he quickly lowered himself again. Now he knew where it was. He tossed another grenade and felt its explosion. He lifted up the leg again, and nothing happened. Another soldier stood warily, and was not shot.
“Alright, move up!”
He stood and jogged to the house he’d just blown up. Once inside, he and the others sat down. He took out a smoke. The men were all silent as they sat, listening to the planes and tanks and other machines of war rumble through the city. They were all green, except for their Sergeant. He smoked a cigar and sat there.
“Private, toss me your canteen.”
The private slid the metal canteen to the man.
“Here you go…”
He muttered.
“Why so scared, Private?”
The kid, maybe 19 or 20, looked at the Sergeant.
“Ain’t it obvious?”
The Sergeant, instead of replying, merely sat there and inhaled deeply. He stood and picked up his gun.
“Alright, men, we’ve got a building to secure.”
He gestured towards a smoldering 3-story building with his cigar smoking hand. They sat up, and lazily began to get their gear in position. Rawlins stooped over and checked his M3 before they set off for the building. They burst out of the building, and were greeted by machine gun fire. As they ran, Rawlins saw the boy take a hit in the leg and go down. Rawlins did not stop to assist him and continued running. Suddenly, it began to rain heavily. The clatter of the enemy machine gun stopped, as they couldn’t find the Americans. The Sergeant held up a fist.
“Hold. We can take it slower now. Rain’ll make us virtually invisible.”
The deluge surrounded the men with walls of grey water. The private who’d been shot cried out in pain.
“Christ! They got me! You gotta help me! It’s just my leg, c’mon!”
“Shut it, Private! The enemy has mortars! Do want them to know our exact location?”
“C’mon! Help me! I gotta get outta this place! Help me!”
He sobbed for a moment. The Sergeant stood slowly.
“Alright men. Let’s go.”
“No! No! Don’t leave me, you bastard! Get back over he-“
Suddenly, a high-pitched scream ripped through the air.
“Shit, hit the deck, hit the deck!”
The men dropped and covered their heads with their hands. A few barrages began to get closer and closer.
“Move, get up and move, get to the building!”
The men hopped up and began all out sprinting. The shells landed closer and closer, and before long, the shells were lifting men up off their feet and tossing them like ragdolls. Rawlins ran before he too was picked up and tossed. He landed and skidded across the mud. He inhaled and received a mouthful of mud. He coughed and spluttered before rolling into a supine position. He spat mud out of his mouth and panted. A few more shells landed around him, throwing mud, water, and pieces of his squad mates into the air. He coughed once more.
Well, this is it, I suppose…
He lay there, staring up into the sky, and he reminisced. He coughed and felt something warm spread along the inside of his clothes before everything went black.
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Everything was a suddenly blinding white flash of pain. He squinted and grimaced as everything came into focus. He saw a few fluorescent lights.
“Hey there. You had quite a nasty fall, didn’t you?”
He rolled over and saw a nurse smiling at him.
“What happened?”
She looked at him and patted him on the head.
“You got pretty badly grazed by shrapnel from a North Korean mortar shell. Medic got to you just in time. Five more minutes and you’d’ve been a goner.”
He sighed.
“How long was I out?”
“The last 3 days. You were pretty badly off.”
“Hm…well, y’think it’ll-“
“Yes, I do. Something like this’ll send you home. Maybe not forever, but at least for 6 months.”
He grinned happily.
“How soon?”
“Once your properly healed, I suppose.”
His fists pumped the air excitedly. He sighed happily and lay back. The nurse walked off, and Rawlins could not help but admire her shapely rear as she walked off. He rolled onto his side and looked across at the GI next to him.
“Hey.”
The other soldier made a muffled moaning sound. Then Rawlins noticed his face was bandaged.
“Sorry ‘bout that, buddy.”
He rolled back over and crossed his hands and rested them on his chest. This was a good day.
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His leg was still pretty injured when he rolled off the boat in Los Angeles, and by the time he was off the train in Fort Worth, he was up to crutches. He stepped off the truck and saw his hometown. He hobbled about for a bit before he saw his mother and sister run up and greet him. They embraced him.
“Lacey, your leg! You can walk on it!”
His mother was beaming.
“It ain’t perfect yet, but I should be off these by the end of the month.”
They embraced him once more.
“C’mon, let’s go.”
They climbed into a convertible and set off down the town’s main drag, only to be greeted by what appeared to be the town’s entire populace. There were banners draped across the street, and confetti was streaming down. It all felt totally unnecessary. Rawlins slumped into the seat.
“Lacey, what’s the matter?”
His mother looked at him, concerned for her son.
“Is your leg acting up?”
“No…it’s nothing….”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
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He sat in his house. He was on leave for the military for six months. His leg was banged up. He couldn’t work or walk around. He could just sit there. His mother walked in.
“Afternoon.”
“Afternoon.”
“Son, you been all kinds of depressed since you’ve been home. Why?”
He took out a cigarette and looked at it.
“I dunno. I suppose I don’t feel like a hero. Well, I know I’m not one. Much to do about nothing, I suppose.”
He lit the cigarette.
“Lacey, you fought for your country. That qualifies you as a hero to me.”
He chuckled.
“What?”
“That’s a typical mom thing to say.”
She sat down.
“Well, maybe. But it’s true.”
“I nearly got blown up and nearly died. How is that heroism?”
She stammered, inarticulate.
“Exactly.”
He grinned slyly and reclined, at last smoking his cigarette.
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Rawlins leaned against the Formica countertop while his mother checked his things.
“You’re gonna be alright, right, Lacey?”
“Yes, Mom. I’ll be fine.”
She looked at him. Her eyes watered and she hugged him.
“Mom-Mom-aw, get offa me.”
She stepped away and chuckled.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. She called for his sister and they climbed into the car with him. It roared into life and set off, throwing up a massive cloud of dust as they sped down the dirt road.
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Rawlins saw the men head for the entrance to the train. The line snaked out of the train station and into the street ad sidewalk of Fort Worth. The oppressive heat caused him to break out into a rather profuse sweat. Before long, he wasn’t feeling well.
“Aw…I…I gotta go….”
He hobbled off into a bathroom and puked his guts out. As he sat there, caressing the cool porcelain bowl, he realized something.
You’re not even thirty yet bud. You’ve almost died twice. Is it really worth it?
He retched again. Wiping the vomit from the corners of his mouth, he slumped against the wall. The atrocities of war. Seeing men he’d come to know get blown to bits. Killing men. Nearly being killed. Why should he bother going back? The train’s whistle screeched out a shrill warning that it was about to leave. Rawlins thought about it. He could just stay behind, move off, get a new name, a new life. It would be so easy. Then he realized he’d be found, arrested, and tossed in jail till he bought the farm. Jailed for being a coward. He couldn’t do it. He stood slowly and lurched back to the line to resume his return to Korea. The train slowly jerked into life and began moving. He trotted after it and hopped aboard it just as it pulled out of the station. He sat in a booth, ready for the slow, steady trip back.
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The men sat in the freezing cold, the snow drifting lazily through the trees. In the distance, artillery and small arms fire echoed through the still valley. Rawlins clutched his gun and ate some K-Rations. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. Their CO stood up.
“Alright, fellas. We’ve gotta break their line before tomorrow, if at all possible. It’s gonna be a long night. Finish up whatever it is you’re doing, check your weapons and ammo, and make your peace.”
The men grumbled their reply. Thirty minutes later, they were off. They advanced down a hill, past someone’s dead comrades. The darkening sky made it impossible to tell whether they were North Korean or American. They trudged on, and, before long, they met up with another squad.
“Gentlemen. You ready?”
The combined force headed off into the night.
“Alright. There’s a rocket emplacement we gotta take out. It’s tearing our guys to shreds.”
They advanced down into the center of the valley.
“Rawlins, take point.”
Lacey stopped.
“Uh-“
“Don’t just stand there. Get up and take point.”
He stumbled towards the front of the group and hoisted the gun to his shoulder.
“We don’t have all day.”
“Erm…right.”
He advanced forward slowly. Then he saw a group of 3 Korean soldiers. He coughed softly. He looked behind him to see what his CO wanted done. There was no one to be found. They’d fanned out into the trees.
“Christ.”
He dropped to his knee and fired the entirety of his clip at the three. They fell into the snow. He gulped. The captain stepped out.
“Good job, kid.”
He stared forward blankly at the men. They pushed past him. A few of the men at the front tumbled, leaving scarlet trails in the snow behind them.
“Great, Rawlins! You alerted ‘em to our position! Fan out, hit them from every side!”
They spread out, firing spurts from their guns at the enemy. Rawlins sprinted through a hole in the line to the rockets. He hopped behind a pile of sandbags and checked his surroundings.
“Phew. Okay. Let’s do this.”
He dug around in a pack and produced some C4, planted it, and set the timer for 30 seconds. He turned to sprint off, but suddenly felt his left calf go up in flames. He fell in the snow and wriggled to the edge of the trees and saw the trail he’d left. He popped a fresh clip in the rifle and propped up against a tree. He saw the rocket emplacement explode. The men around him cheered. He grinned. The remaining Koreans dropped their weapons and sprinted off into the trees. Rawlins blinked and suddenly saw sparkling stars. He blinked again, and then passed out.
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The sound of a bustling hospital woke him. He saw people rushing around, tending to amputees, burn victims, and other casualties. He looked around and saw his mail at the table near his head. He sifted through and found one, that read “FROM: US GOVERNMENT-TO:PFC LACEY RAWLINS”. He tore it open and saw it was another furlough. He facepalmed.
“Aw Christ. Here we go again.”
END
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