The Final Dream

Richer Nielson stumbled forward as he forced his way through the thick Vietnamese jungle, aided by only a dull machete. Unable to catch his breath, he gulped down hot, humid air, each breath a suffocating trial. The jungle pressed in around him. Many of his struggles were defined by the countless vines and branches that grabbed his clothes and the roots which leapt up to trip him. But the worst, by far, were the insects, which swarmed about his body in innumerable clouds. Even the standard military issue bug repellent lost its effect as it mixed with his sweat and turned to sludge. Large, itchy mounds covered his flesh in painful clumps, nearly driving him mad.

He looked to his right, and saw fellow G.I.s embattled in a similar struggle. The worst part of today was just how incredibly unnecessary the entire thing was. A few hours ago, his patrol had engaged in a brief skirmish with the Vietcong, but ended up retreating in the wrong direction. By the time his leaders had realized their mistake, they were buried miles deep in enemy territory. It had been five hours since then, and they now found themselves in a desperate race back to safety.

Distracted by these thoughts, Richer stepped down and was horrified to feel the squelch of mud beneath his worn boots. A simple glance down showed one of the many small streams hidden within the jungle, streams which they were to avoid at all costs. Richer panicked and yanked his foot out, but not before several massive leeches squirmed out of the water and onto his boot, beginning to burrow beneath the laces. He let out a small cry of dismay and instinctively reached for the foul smelling bug repellant on his belt. The putrid liquid did its work quickly as the leeches stiffened almost immediately when he sprayed them directly. Richer reached down and began to pick them out as fast as he could. Unfortunately, he looked up and saw the squad had continued to move without him, so he reluctantly stood once more. It wasn't worth the risk of being left behind. Now, he could only pray he had found each of the vampiric hell spawn.

Suddenly, a pain ridden shriek ripped through the air, scattering the swarms of insects which billowed around his head. Richer whipped his head towards the source of the scream, and found it was a soldier just a few feet away from him. He grit his teeth as he saw that the poor man's foot disappeared into a hole. He didn't need to check to know what was inside.

"Ahhh!" The man screamed in agony.

"Hold on Jerry, I'm here," Richer said as he ran to his side. He wished his voice didn't sound so numb and callous.

He slung his pack around and unfolded a small metal trench shovel. The ground was soft with mud, but filled with tough roots. Fortunately, one of the laws of the jungle was to keep a sharp shovel, a practice Richer followed religiously. After a few seconds of careful digging, he hissed at the gruesome sight before him. The hole had been armed with several jagged, sharp, stakes, which plunged directly through the sole of Jerry's boot and into his foot. As he unearthed them, the smell of feces filled the air. Richer gingerly worked to remove the man's foot from the punji sticks, the process made easier by became aware of more screams. He could only ignore them and focus. Finally, dirt crumbled into the hole as he yanked the man's foot free.

Over Jerry's pain stricken cry, Richer heard the lieutenant's voice floated through the air. "The whole area is trapped! Take caution and head for the clearing!"

Richer glanced up and saw a break in hell a little further ahead. He stood up and pulled Jerry to his feet, ignoring the man's cries, which had now faded into whimpers.

Slowed by supporting Jerry, it took them almost ten minutes to traverse the nearly 30 feet of jungle and arrive at the clearing. The uncompromising resistance of the jungle wore at Richer's mind, made worse by the unceasing cries of the wounded. At long last, their company finally reached the clearing.

Richer looked back at the jungle behind them. Why had the monsters built so many traps right there? Unless…

He dove to the ground, ignoring the sharp pricks of the branches. Moments later, the crack of gunfire filled the air. Bullets whizzed overhead, pulling screams from a few unlucky soldiers. The sound of bodies hitting the jungle did nothing to suppress his panic.