Only Fools Rush In [to be edited]

Prisoner of War

Waves dashed the rocks and then coiled back into the center of a shallow waterhole. Ripples danced on the water’s surface and around the outline of a still body. A hand, caked in mud, rested above the surface with just the knuckles visible. A face, half in, half out, was still and motionless. It wasn’t until a large roach crawled up on the cheek and towards the cavern of the ear did the body jerk, sending the bug skittering under the shirt collar.

The eyes opened and then closed quickly when the dirty water came in contact. The soiled name “BRENNAN” came up from the water along with the crippled owner. Panting and coughing, Brennan sat up, holding a hand over his side wound. Groaning and wincing at the sore, he pulled his knees beneath his body and attempted to stand up. However, the wound had fixed itself, pulling the surrounding skin into an uncomfortable knot, making it impossible to stretch straight.

Brennan stumbled out of the waterhole and onto the moss. He collapsed long enough to gain strength to hide himself in the nearby bushes. Once he had collected himself, he noticed, by some miracle, that his rifle had followed the same current. Smiling in relief, he took it up and checked the chamber. He had a few remaining ammo on his utility belt, but not enough to make mistakes. Throwing the strap over his shoulder, he examined the area and studied the ground for tracks. It didn’t look like anyone lived nearby, but he had to be cautious.

Crouched, Brennan made for the brambles, careful not to step on traps or explosives. As he made his way through the jungle, his eyes darting back and forth, his foot stepped on a hidden wire that stretched at least a hundred yards in both directions. Catching his breath, Brennan leaned down and pressed his thumb over the wire as he lifted his foot. Then, with one motion, he dove away from the wire, releasing the pressure as well as a net. Hitting the ground, he turned around just in time to see an empty net shoot up in the sky.

He didn’t watch for long; he knew if a trap went off, the Viet Cong weren’t too far away. So, carefully, he pulled himself into the dry reeds and hid in the thickness of them, hoping no one would jump out and kill him. As he sat there, he peered down at his side wound and pulled away the fabric. A dark, crusty wound, oozing with dark blood, reeked from a growing infection. Choking from the smell, Brennan closed it up and placed a hand over his mouth to keep from being heard.

When he heard nothing, he advanced forward, keeping a hand on his knife. His head thumped from dehydration, making him lightheaded and disoriented. Grunting from the ache in his body, Brennan reluctantly crumpled to the ground, curling up in pain. The unconsciousness and adrenaline had worn off, revealing the true state of his pain. Pushing himself up with one arm, Brennan made to continue before a pair of hands grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the tree. Brennan held in a cry.

“Dammit, Brennan! We thought you were dead!” came the rough voice of the man Brennan had last seen.

“Could you say that a little louder, don’t think Charlie heard you,” Brennan muttered sarcastically as he sunk to the ground.

Monaghan knelt down beside him, chewing on a fresh cigarette. “Want one?” he held up the package. “I know a safe place we can huddle.”

“Did you leave the squad?”

“Sergeant Chevoski is with them. You were kind of my reasonability, had to come after you, buddy.” Monaghan gave him a smirk and helped him to his feet. Monaghan was a large man with boulder-like shoulders and a perfect A-frame. His face was rectangular and stern, one perfect for the army. Brennan, on the other hand, was slight, fast, and had pixyish features that deceived his real age. The two, though the army had broken their friendship, still, somewhere, cared for one another.  “Here, open your mouth. It’s aspirin.” Monaghan slipped a white pill in Brennan’s mouth and then offered him his water.