Far Off Memory

Out of the frying pan into the fire. Yep. That about sums it up.

My eardrums finally stopped ringing as my buddies sat down next to me. Jack, all broad shouldered and square jawed, offered me a cigarette. Taking it gladly, I nodded hello to him. We didn’t speak; we barely even glanced at each other – definitely a sign of mourning. We lost several good men today, men who had hardly seen a day over twenty.

Our Sergeant limped toward us, the tolls of combat pouring out of his body. A bloodied bandage curled itself around his thigh, signaling that he was not as invincible as many thought him to be. We didn’t even bother to stand or salute; that’s just endangering the Sergeant and wasting our energy. Instead, my buddies and I just waited to hear what he had to say. Hopefully, it was something good.

“Okay, boys,” Sarge drawled, spitting out tobacco, “we got orders to rendezvous over at site 22A.” Some of the boys groaned. “Get over it, you bunch of pansies! We head out in 0200 hours.” With that, Sarge limped away. I vaguely wondered if that wound would gain him a ticket home, but I knew it wouldn’t. No one goes home.

One of the guys next to me asked where site 22A is. No one answered for a moment. No one wanted to say it out loud. Then, Jack flicked his cigarette away before answering.

“The Knoll.”

Everyone paled. That was indeed suicide. Jack looked at me, trying to reassure that it was going be okay, that we'd all go home to our loved ones and live the rest of our lives in peace. But no one goes home. Alive.

I somehow found myself on a chopper. That happens from time to time; I’ll be one place one minute, then somewhere else the next. War does that to you, I’m guessing. I looked to my left, trying to see who was next to me. It was Jack, no surprise there. Ever since boot camp, we’ve been at each other’s side. People say it’s dangerous to get too close to someone during a tour, but I couldn’t help it. How could you? I needed someone to be there, to keep me rooted. Sane. And Jack was a damn good soldier. He was likely to get medals.

He saw me looking his way and grinned. “All good, Jayne Baby?” I chuckled, a feat considering we were going into an extremely hot landing zone. Jack was the only one who had ever called me Jayne, which is my middle name. He found it hilarious when we first introduced ourselves. Called me it ever since. I don’t mind; it gained me a fine friend.

Someone yelled that touchdown was in ten minutes. My heart skipped. I wasn’t ready for this fight. Jack placed his hand on my knee and squeezed. The contact surprised me, but I was grateful. Not our usual before-fight ritual... The chopper jerked, and we jumped. The battle was like a dream, a nightmare.

At the first footfall, I was under heavy fire. Bullets were speeding everywhere, as if they were pebbles sharply hitting a pond's surface, one right after the other. Thunderous booms from enemy artillery rendered me deaf for a few terrifying moments. The Lieutenant Colonel's commands became distant and incoherent, muffled as if under water. The shouts of my fellow soldiers collided roughly into my ear: the angry battle cries directed toward our enemy, the sorrowful yells of losing a comrade, and the agonizing wails of the wounded. Each sound was a nail on a chalkboard, echoing – piercing my head.

Recovering from initial shock, I quickly ran for cover behind a rise of dirt. The soldiers there were the very picture of disarray. Their uniforms were muddied and weathered, their grime coated helmets askew on top of dirt covered heads, and their whole bodies caked in sweat, dirt, blood and other substances I dared not name. The brows of these men were lined with worry and fear; their eyes lighted with a gleam of awareness that this might be the last time they draw breath. New explosions sent clumps of dirt raining down on us, occasionally sending men flying backwards, landing with sickening thuds. Reloading my weapon, I watched as men, both ally and enemy, fall to the ground in a tangled web of limbs either wounded or dead. Spurts of deep brown and crimson rose into the air every other second.

The man next to me fell on my side, his head slouching onto my shoulders. My throat tightened, air struggling to break its way through, as I felt warm, thick liquid inch its way down my arm. I pressed my rifle closer to my chest, the once cool material hot and clammy from my constant touch. The inside of my chest burned with nerves, a monstrous pounding that ripped its way through my ribcage. I fired, feeling every bead of sweat trickle down my skin. Suddenly, a piercing pain throbbed at my upper arm. The skin had been cut with a rogue bullet, just deep enough to bleed. It was nothing serious; I pushed the prickling pain out of my mind.

A sudden stench filled my nose. It was the stink of burnt wood, grass, and flesh. The enemy had started throwing grenades; they were getting too close. The smell stung the inside of my nostrils. The mixture of baking bodies, burning flesh, and bodily waste made me feel ill. The drying blood from my fallen comrade also rose up to my nose. The gruesome concoction churned my stomach until I felt the need to release its contents; however, I suppressed it in order to follow my Battalion in a head on attack.

As I rushed forward, the smoke from the burning trees gushed into my mouth. Choking on the stale material, I was thrown off my feet by another blast. Landing face first on the hard ground, I swallowed a mouthful of grimy dirt. As I spit the contents out, I ran to my foes. I fired at anything that wasn't an ally uniform, tasting my own sweat as it poured down my face from heat and nerves. I fell back suddenly, an unknown force grinding me into the ground. I stared blankly as I felt for my gun, bewildered for a moment. Then it came: blood. Blood was slowly trickling into my mouth. It was hot, almost frying my taste buds, and thick like peanut butter, sticking to the sides and top of my mouth. The bitter, coppery taste made tears spring to my eyes. The blood began to flow from the corners of my mouth, mixing with the saltiness of my fallen tears.

The sounds of battle became light and distant. My world grew dark with each passing second. I could no longer feel the heat beating down on my body, nor could I taste my own blood within my mouth. What I could do, though, was smell the slight scent of some foreign flower, the sweetness of its fragrance lulling me to sleep. It was a peace of mind, of war, of life in my final moment of awareness.

At least, that’s what I thought.

Fuck.

I woke up some time later under the faint light of the soon to be rising sun. Everything was quiet, literally silent. I didn’t want to move in fear of disturbing this rare moment of tranquility. For a moment, I thought I really was dead. For the first time, I noticed the beauty of the foreign landscape around me. In the quietude of the morn, it looked so heavenly. The wind blew gently, its touch caressing each leaf on every tree. The greens patched together with the browns in a masterpiece painted by some famous artist. It was close to perfection.

As more light began to peek through the curtain of trees, birds began to chirp. A smile found its way onto my lips. It’d been so long since that sound entered my ears. It gave me hope that the war wasn’t a complete waste of life.

“Jayne.” I closed my eyes in relief as Jack came to my side. There was always a fear in the back of my mind, a seed that had planted itself in my inner thoughts. With each battle, its thorns rooted themselves deeper, twisting, choking. Today, however, they stood still. “Jayne, you up?”

“No, fool, I’m still sleeping.” I smirked, opening one eye to peer up at the brunette. He chuckled, shaking his head as he stretched. He looked me over, eyes heading to my bandaged side. Guess a bullet got me. Guess I was saved by Corbin, our medic.

“Heh, was worried for a sec. Knew I shouldn’ta been,” Jack said through a grin, bending over to gently ruffle my hair. My heart skipped a beat. We never spoke about that chance, never had too much physical contact. Why was he breaking tradition now? “Not after I carried your ass to Corbin, my fingers all in your fucking wound.” He held up his left index and middle fingers for emphasis.

I didn't know what to say. Jack had saved my life. If it weren't for him, I'd be one of the rotting bodies on the field. Tears welled up, but I refused to let them fall. Jack looked at my bandages again, a worried crease in his brow as he towered over me. What would I have done if I didn't meet the man before me? Well, besides not breathing right now... I wanted to laugh, recalling how he loomed over me back at boot when we first met the same way he was now. I actually thought the big oaf would give me trouble.

I sighed, placing my duffel on my bunk, wondering what the fuck had I'd gotten myself into. I wondered what the gang back home was doing. I'd give anything to be with them right now.

“Hey. You're in my bunk, pal.” I grumbled, turning around to tell the intruder where to shove it when I froze, finally seeing the guy. Holy shit, he had some muscles! I didn't do anything, and we just stared at each other. “You gonna move or what?” The brunette quirked an eye brow.

“Why should I?” I mentally slapped myself for asking the question as it left my mouth. The guy would probably make me move with his big ass fist, and I'll forever be on his bad graces. Swell. As I was preparing for his first punch, he surprised me by laughing.

“Wouldn't want your skinny ass to be crushed if I make the bunk collapse.” He grinned as he plopped his duffel down on my now ex-bunk. “Name's Jack Michael Caster.” He offered his hand. Blinking a bit, I took it.

“Uh, Samuel Jayne Carrigan. Pleasure?” I stated, unsure. He shook my hand firmly, laughing when I introduced myself. Did I say something funny?

“Jayne? Who names their boy that?” He chuckled as he tossed my duffel on the top bunk. Guess I was moving.

“My mom, apparently. Thought it was cute.” I said, still fascinated that the guy, uh, that Jack hadn't punched my lights out. Jack chuckled again.

“Cute, huh? Well, you betta watch out, then.” When I cocked my head in confusion, he continued with a grin. “All the guys might find a mighty fine interest in a cute boy like you.” He smirked. I blinked, a grin slowly creeping on my lips.

“Oh, is that so? Whatever am I going to do about that?” I batted my eyes at him, which earned a bark of laughter.

Still laughing, Jack draped his arm across my shoulders, pulling me into a light noogie. “Alrighty, Jayne Baby, I'll watch out for that skinny ass of yours.” We laughed as if we've known each other for a lifetime.

Blinking out of good, fun times and back to reality, I peered at my best friend, who still eyed my wound with concern. He kept the promise he made; he saved my ass. Clearing my throat, I spoke. “I’m hard to get rid of.” Even as I said it, I felt a lump rise in my throat. It went down a bit when I heard his bark of a laugh. So much for the quiet morning.

“Are ya kiddin' me? No way you leavin', ya lucky son of a bit –!” He didn’t finish his speech. Bombs had started to go off all around us. One’s force threw Jack forward, landing him next to me. Panicking, I reached around for my rifle. It wasn’t near. Oh, God…

Jack had his, though, and he was using it. Firing at any movement within the trees, Jack yelled for some back up. The Sarge barked out orders, and I heard someone say the medevacs were on the way. The helicopters were coming this way, under all the heavy fire? That’s suicide. I felt so useless. I was a weapon for the army, yet I couldn't do anything to help the fight.

I made to move to find some form of a weapon, but Jack held me down. He yelled something about wounds reopening.

Peering around me, I noticed that I was lumped with other wounded soldiers. Wounded soldiers… medevacs… enemy fire… Oh, God! The medevacs were coming for the wounded soldiers, and Charlie knew it. Shit!

Bullets whizzed everywhere, some hitting their targets with fatal precision and others missing by mere inches. Two others joined Jack in front of the wounded, trying to eliminate any threat to their comrades. Others were trying to hold off our position, keep the LZ clear for the choppers. Then, the thunder came.

The choppers swooped to the ground. My unit ran to deliver the wounded. Bullets were still zooming past us. Jack supported me, an arm wrapped behind the small of my back, while his other arm handled his rifle. “Goddamnit!” He cussed as we dodged our way through the maze of bullets and bodies, “Motha fuckin' gooks just won't quit!”

We made it and briefly waited for my turn to be flung into the helicopter. Jack shielded me as he took out a few Charlies. Jack packed me in last while the other two soldiers covered him. Despite everything, he smiled. “Goin' home, Jayne!” He yelled, “Take care, bud –!”

Time stopped.

I blinked as blood splattered across my face. Jack's eyes widened as his entire body rippled from the force of the stray bullet. My breath caught in my throat as his face contorted achingly slowly into a confused expression, mouth opening slightly. He wobbled, falling forward. Screaming my lungs out, I quickly reached for him, trying to save him, trying to reverse the irreversible. I just managed to grab hold of his shoulders as the chopper took off.

I screamed for someone to help him as I gripped him tighter, not letting him fall from the chopper, but no sound came out. There were simply no words I could utter. I couldn't save him. I couldn't save him the way he saved me. I held on to him tightly even after others helped me pull him fully on board. I held on even after they told me he was dead. I couldn't let go. I failed to save him. Tears were streaming down my face, but I didn't care. I had just lost the closest thing to a brother I'd ever have.

No one goes home. This fucking war takes everything from you. The body may still function, but the mind goes dull, clouded. Haunted. Everyone – everyone – dies in battle. And I did die.

I died when my brother died.