Soldier’s Fall

“So this is autumn in the jungle,” a soldier mumbled to the Grunt standing next to him as he stared at the corpse of a Vietnamese man. “Except instead of dead leaves, we get dead bodies.” The air was thick with humidity, and the silence of the moment was broken by a whistle off to the left. The soldier looked up in time top see the Lieutenant give the hand signal to move out. With a final glance at the dead Gook, the soldier grabbed his gear and followed his platoon out of the ravine.

They walked for close to an hour, going even deeper into the dense jungle before the Lieutenant gave the signal to rest. They were going to take a twenty minute break before they humped the rest of the ten clicks back to Firebase Bravo. The heat was stifling and the men of the platoon began removing packs and helmets to reveal sweaty faces; the faces of men who lived in a constant state of anxiety, the men who lived and traveled with death at all times. “I thought the weather was supposed to cool down in the fall,” the soldier that had earlier been staring at the body of his enemy commented. “You’re not in Kansas anymore Dorothy,” the Grunt closest to him replied with tired sarcasm. “Yeah, well I’m not in Illinois either,” the soldier whispered back under his breath.

The exchange only lasted a few seconds, but it was the longest conversation he had had since heading into the jungle a couple of days ago. Speaking was a luxury that you could not afford too often. Sound traveled far in the jungle, and the enemy was always listening. With the mention of his home in Illinois, the soldier felt the familiar pang of homesickness wash over him. He remembered the reds and yellows of the leaves, the fields of wheat waiting to be harvested, and his most cherished memory of the autumn moon shining brightly as he shared a tender kiss with his girl. He reached up to wipe a tear from his eye when the jungle erupted with sound. The high-pitched whine of incoming artillery shells and the all too familiar sound of jungle foliage being ripped apart by automatic weapons fire snapped the soldier out of his brief respite. Men began screaming, and the Lieutenant was barking out orders. Chaos reigned. The soldier looked up in time to see the guy that had made the Kansas remark fall to the ground, blood pumping from his chest. The dark amber color briefly reminded the soldier of the leaves he had just been reminiscing about. He looked up at the darkening sky, and saw the moon through the branches. “Whaddya know, an autumn moon,” he whispered. With the sounds of battle closing in, the soldier grabbed his M-16, and prayed that he did not become one of the dead bodies instead of the dead leaves that marked autumn’s passing in the jungle.