Animosity

Chapter 11 - Blue is Not A Name

Photo: A band of three Marines run across a stretch of wet marshland as smoke from a nearby bomb billows into the air behind them.

—

After the general panic and terror of last night, I was exhausted, and I had crawled right back into my tent and fell fast asleep. Nightmares of smoke and fire plagued my mind, of the hulking plane circling back around and setting its sights on us before dropping a ten pound bomb on our heads. The explosion of the behemoth had woken me up with a start, my eyes wide and chest tight as I looked down at Buddy. He was sleeping peacefully, snoring lightly, and his face was pressed into the soft pillow.

Envious of how well the kid could doze off, I had yawned and stumbled out of the hooch, rubbing my eyes as I looked blearily around the clearing. The rest of the tents were silent, the chests silhouetted figures rising and falling as they slept. The air was crisp, clear, and a little ways away from me, a lark cried and flapped its wings tiredly.

I had looked down into the valley below, half-lidded eyes widening as I saw the carnage left by the bombing last night. Around two and a half fields were destroyed, grass burned to a crisp and trees gnarled and twisted from the heat of the flames. The fire had gone out about an hour after we had stopped the plane from opening fire on us, and we had witnessed it die out slowly in the farmland below us.

Shaken, we had all sat in silence around the fire for a long time, solemn as we met each others' gazes. Buddy had trembled in his oversized jacket next to me, using my dark green shirt to cover his cold body, and he had leaned his head on my shoulder, wide eyes swimming. Devy was sitting solemnly against a log that was pulled up beside us, the same blanket he had used to send the smoke signals wrapped around his body, his arms folded over his chest. Lt. Hiro fiddled with the radio for a bit before ordering us back to our tents to get some sleep, and I sighed in relief as I laid down.

In the bright, breezy morning, I had waited for a minute until everyone was up, attempting to smoke my first cigarette and failing miserably. As soon as the tar-filled smoke entered my lungs, I coughed so violently that I accidentally woke up half of the camp. Shoving the pack into my pocket to hide it from Devy, I apologized quickly and stomped the horrible thing into the tan dirt.

We had cleaned up and I made breakfast, originally thinking about whipping up some of the scrambled egg that I made Buddy the night before, but the idea evaporated quickly when I realized how much time it would take. Instead, I toasted a few pieces of rationed bread and spread jam over them, and we had eaten while starting off through the jungle.

        Now, we were traveling on level ground, having come down from the hill just minutes before. The slope was steep, daunting, and I had slipped many times on the weather-worm roots and mud that had lined the path. Each time, Doc had caught onto my arm with a grunt, pulling me back up to my feet and nodding good-naturedly at my sheepish gratitude. The leaves were thick and waxy as I brushed them away from my face, and the jungle was humming with the buzz of passing insects and the calls of wild birds.

        Now, we were taking a short rest against a nearby clump of trees, the tops extending up into the air, bunches of unidentifiable fruit hanging from them. Our little group was sitting on the damp earth underneath, catching our breath and talking lowly between each other. Devy and Hank were speaking back and forth, and as the latter's gaze caught mine, I looked away angrily.

        Lt. Hiro sighed as he unscrewed the cap of his canteen, tapping a stray finger against the side of the silver metal, peering inside with disdain. It was empty, dry, and I looked back at my bottle, the interior devoid of any water.