A Short Walk

Hello again, this is a short thing I wrote a few years ago.... lemme know what you think....ohkay?

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

A Short Walk

 The first thing that you have to understand is that I absolutely hate walking point. What's more, I should be the last chosen to walk point. At six-foot three and 225 pounds of muscle without any co-ordination, I am not ideal for this position. Add in the fact that I am as near-sighted as a brick-wall, and you should get the idea. Besides, I'm a short-timer, 43 days and a wake-up then this child is Arizona bound.  

 That's the trouble with brand new officers. Gotta show their authority. Sheeit.  

 So I find myself taking another step. Right foot up, left foot planted. Oh-oh a rock. Step on it? No! Charley would think that's the place for the mine. OK, think, right of the rock, or left of the rock? Maybe, maybe over the rock. Think dumb-ass, think. Where would the sumbitch put the mine? OK, lets go for right. No, no, left!  

 A bug with wings decides that my neck is it's lunch. Right foot in the air, and poised. Hope the sweat running down my neck drowns the little sumbitch. Ok, it bit me on the right, soooo....step....left side of the rock. Lower the foot, ever so gently upon the leaves to the left. Giving thanks for the sign that made this decision easier.

 I'm still alive! Oh shit, gotta move the left foot!

 A thousand shades of green and brown surround me. The colors are alternately brilliant and subdued as the sunlight filters thru the trees overhead. Insects buzz, a bird call's in the distance. My eyes move in all directions. trying to see thru the sweat that covers my glasses.

 Somehow, with the paranoid part of my brain making the decision, my left foot finds a safe landing place. The 'very' paranoid part of my brain has charge of the eyes today.

 My breathing is so loud that I figure every VC within two klicks knows that I am here.  

 A loud "psstt" I pause gratefully, and listen to the muffled footsteps coming up behind me.

 Cedric grins at me. His teeth are a brilliant white in the gloom of the Ho Bo woods. His black skin is covered with the sweat and dirt of a three day patrol. His eyes that sparkle with the humor of one who knows what is really going on look back at me.

 "Candy-assed LT. says we need a rest." I sink to a crouch and grin back at him. "Sheeit, we only been out 'bout an hour." We carefully sink to the ground for a moment and each of us instantly lights up. Ok, sure, it's stupid, but what the hell.  

 Like I said, I'm a big guy. Cedric is a freakin mountain, standing two inches taller and carrying 50 more pounds. We've been close since we got here. I keep telling him I'm an old pro compared to him. After all, I got to Cu Chi three days before him. We've shared a lot in the last ten and a half months. He carried me back to 'Doc' when I got the shrapnel in my leg the time we were ambushed just out of Trang Bang. I returned the favor when an AK47 round went thru his upper arm two months later. Standing side by side we had been thru 15 fire-fights and a lot of shit. I'm a damn cowboy redneck from the mountains of Arizona, he's a 'croppers son from outside of Dothan, Alabama. We are always on each others ass for the stupid way's we had been brought up. He calls me a damned ignorant cracker bigot. I tell him that that's ok, least I'm not some dumb negro cotton picker. We love each other like brothers. We are not white or black, we are Wolfhounds! Yeah sure, we may be with Bravo company 2nd btn, 27th Infantry. The Wolfhounds. Actually we are a couple of scared kids, that just wanna go home and cruise the main drag, listen to rock n roll, and find some sweet young thing to make out with.

 A movement to our rear. Chickowski is motioning us to move out.

 A groan from each of us as we stand and begin again. I take the right, Cedric the left and we begin our dance of death with the floor of the jungle.

 It must be about 4 in the afternoon. We should have stopped an hour ago, to start setting up our nights hardpoint. Mind is numb from the constant struggle to figure out where to walk. Body is exhausted. The trail has widened out and Chicowski relay's that we are to stop here. Finally.

 Cedric and I pick a spot behind a termite mound on the right of the trail and listen to the rest moving up.

 Most of the platoon is in the wide spot and milling around and beginning to set up the position. One of the FNG's, (what the hell is his name?) is walking towards our mound when he kind of stops in mid-stride and looks at the hole that is spurting blood in great gouts from his right arm.

 All hell breaks loose. AK's, rpg's, and machine-gun fire rip around us. Cedric and I had been half dozing with fatigue, he swings around and starts spraying to the left of us with his 16. I'm doing the same to the right.

 Screaming and shouting and pops and roars fill the air. The zip-zip of near misses, sing an evil song as they go by.  

 Crenshaw is down, about twenty feet to my right. "Medic" Was that me that shouted that? "Medic" It was that time.

 A sudden deafness. A roiling of dirt and debris. 

 I.....I...How come I'm on my face? 

 I look up, Cedric is staring into my face with eyes that will never see this world again.

 So odd, I can't seem......my arms....they are so heavy.

 Forever, that's how long it takes me to lift my hand. Forever, that's the time needed to reach that hand to Cedrics.

 Forever, that is what we have now.