Displacement - Murder Drones

Short Change Hero

This ain't no place for no hero.
This ain't no place for no "better man".
This ain't no place for no hero, to call home.

Violent flames lick your fingertips. You could barely hear the crackle of a roaring inferno, begging to swallow you whole.
Eyelids heavy, you barely managed to open your eyes. A bed of snow lay over you. The weight stopping all movement.

"This is Dust Off Two, we've been downed, over." A hoarse voice spoke.

"Roger, Dust Off Two." Another replied.

"I've been hit, bleedin' bad. Need assistance, I'm in unknown territory."

"Unknown? You were downed over Happy Valley. Light a flare, Gunship support will be on the way. Yellow two and four have been hit. Over." Through the speech of the second voice you could hear rapid firing of guns. Rockets roared, propellers also present.

"I'm... I don't where I am, snow's everywhere, I'm freezin' my ass off here."

"Head in the game, Dust Off Two. You're in Happy Valley. Vietnam. Now, light a flare. Over."

You did your best to get your head off the ground, and shook the snow off. A downed helicopter was infront of you, alight.
The voice that sounded closest to you turned out to be a man, clutching his chest in an attempt to stop bleeding. Your ears were ringing, vision slightly blurred. It took every fiber of your being to get off the ground.

"Wilco..." He meekly reached for one in a chest pocket, striking it. The flare blinded you for a moment, sending streaks of red smoke wafting into the sky.

"Flare out."

"Dust Off Two, LZ is hot, we're rerouting support. You're on your own."

The snow covering your body subsided with your movement. His eyes darted to yours, and he drew his pistol.

"Hold-" You started coughing; interrupting your sentence. Hearing English, his grip loosened and fell to the snow.

"There's a civie down here..."

"Keep your eyes peeled, watch 'em close" The voice from his chest responded.

"Ain't no gook, spoke English."
He tried to get up using his arms. He fell back down with a sigh.

"Like I said, keep you-"

The man cut in.

"I'll find my way back. Flare's still up if Dust Off one or three is available. Over and out."

You finally struggled to your feet. His uniform was a muddy forest green, interrupted by many creases and snow particles. The flak jacket on his chest hadn't stopped any shrapnel at all, the red bleeding into the innocent white.
It was so unbelievably cold; You moved closer towards the fire to warm yourself up. The harsh virulent winds fed the gluttonous inferno.

"And who might you be?" He asked with intrigue. You slowly turned your head to look at him.

"I'm..."
Such a simple question rebounded in your brain over and over. Any semblance of who you were or what you did was a complete mystery. You looked inside yourself for answers and found absolutely nothing. Only trace memories of the world you were from was left.

He looked at you expectantly. Your face scrunched up in frustration.

"I'll be damned..." You finally spoke. Voice trailing off as if to find answers. "I can't remember a single thing."

He chuckled.

"Didn't think concussions hit that hard."

Now that the adrenaline running through your veins went dry, you realized you were having trouble breathing.