Animosity

Chapter 12 - Radio

        Photo: A wounded battalion of men retreat into the jungle; a GI on the left holds his hands out in appreciation of the rain.

—

        "What the hell..?" Devy let out the incredulous string of words as we emerged from the underbrush, a low groan escaping from my lips as I struggled to carry Private Miller as carefully as possible.

We had made a slow journey up the path from the stream, my ears still ringing with Doc's urgent warnings of 'Careful now, careful with him'. My muscles were taut and shaking, sweat running down my forearms as I held him up, breath coming in heavy pants, strained and strangled. Lt. Hiro and the rest of the men were standing wide-eyed against the cluster of trees we had stopped by before, shocked as me, Doc, and the band of wounded soldiers stumbled into the clearing.

Almost immediately, Hank rushed to my side to help, hands extended as his gaze swept over the pale dark-haired man unconscious in my grasp. I was too exhausted to even protest as he fitted his strong, sturdy arms over mine, and the touch seemed to breathe a new life into me as I met his gaze. Reluctant to admit that I still felt angry over his betrayal, I looked away, and my stare instead Came to rest on Lt. Hiro as he rushed over to the band of wounded battalion members.

"Oscar!" He exclaimed quickly, a genuine happiness I had never heard before creeping into his voice. Approaching the Lieutenant, he held an arm out to the other man, and they shook hands firmly, delighted grins on their faces.

"Jesus, Scott, it's you!" Lt. Thompson replied, his warm expression ever-present as his deep hazel eyes raked over his companion. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Lt. Hiro chuckled good-naturedly in response, the first time I had heard him laugh since we'd been on the mission together. It was deep and booming, a surprisingly heartening sound that caused a tiny grin to appear on my face. The two obviously knew each other from somewhere, and it was strange seeing him interact with men that he knew versus the odd, alienating way he communicated with us. Commanding us to walk faster, travel lighter, argue less, had made him seem like less of a person and more of a robot, monotone and uncaring. However, seeing him smiling and alive as he spoke to his former friend, I saw a humanity in him than I had never noticed before.

"Christ, Oscar, you look like shit," he remarked, instantly becoming concerned as he reached a hand out to brush over the other man's cut-lined arms. Lt. Thompson winced slightly, recoiling from the touch, and nodded, face contorted in a painful grimace. Hiro continued, worried. "Where were you? I tried sending out a signal last night... I wasn't aware that anyone actually intercepted it. What happened?"

As Lt. Thompson sat down wearily on the dirt, running a trembling hand through his curly hair, his words began to fade from my attention as I instead turned my focus to Buddy and Devy, who were hurriedly trying to set up a tent. The redhead who had told me to be careful with his partner was with Doc, helping him pull various surgical instruments out of his gray medical bag. Sharp metal scalpels, lightweight and glimmering in the sun, were fitted onto a white plastic tray, syringes of morphine laid on a swathe of cloth bandages.

Doc, pushing his glasses up farther on the bridge of his nose, beckoned me and Hank over, attitude professional and brisk as he spread out a sheet on the ground. The tall brunette and I moved slowly towards them, careful not to jostle the man unconscious in our arms. He was still breathing, thank God, but he looked worse than before, deep bags under his eyes that contrasted against his paper white skin.

"Set him down right here, gently now," Doc ordered, and we counted to three under our breath before lowering him onto the cotton sheet. As soon as Private Miller's body hit the ground, the blonde medic went to work, nimble fingers flying over his tools and beginning the surgery.