FICTION

A WAR STORY

Eileen Penn.

The afternoon sun was filtering through the canopy in small golden beams as the men moved slowly down the jungle trail. Dressed alike in green, wearing helmets, and rifles held at the ready, it wouldn't be hard for a casual observer, if there were any in this part of the world, to notice a Marine killer team. They walked almost furtively, searching the foilage for covered signs of the elusive enemy, and the ground for the dreaded hidden booby traps that so often took the lives of their comrades. I was the third man in this patrol, following the two points and right in front of the man with the PRC-25 radio. We were heading home to our base camp after a wasted day of lying in ambush along this supply route. All of a sudden the quiet day erupted in flashing sound and fire. Ambush! After that whole day of waiting for the enemy, we discovered that he had been right down the trail waiting for us, and we had lost the waiting game to the famous oriental patience. Quickly, as trained we moved apart and rushed the ambush sight, weapons ex- ploding sheets of leaden flame and voices sounding the age old war cry of man. Suddenly in a tenth of a second, I felt a rush of fire burn through my body and then blackness.

I woke up in a white room, not knowing where I was and amazed to be alive. I thought that I had better check a little more to see that I wasn't in St. Peter's judgement room or something awaiting trial, when a doctor entered the room and came over to my bed. I became more aware of the situation and noticed that there was an I.V. injection bottle suspended over the bed and that from my waist down I wasn't able to move my body, or was it still there? I haltingly asked the silent doctor the age old question that G.I.'s always ask when they discover their presence in the hospital.

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