REMEMBER THE FALLEN

I didn’t see where the burst of fire came from.  Instinctively I dove off the left side of the trail into the tall grass for a better firing position.  I eased over to the edge of the trail to try and get a look just as another burst raked past me kicking up dirt and smacking the thick grass over my head.   My buddy, who had been walking about 5 yards in front of me, was lying on the trail.  He was lying on his side facing me with his hands against his chest.  I could see blood oozing out between his fingers.  Charlie started dropping 60’s on us and kept raking the trail with bursts of fire.  Between bursts, I could hear my buddy gurgling as we made eye contact and he stuck out a bloody hand toward me.  His eyes were glazed with fear, but he didn’t make a sound, except to gurgle.  I eased my way through the grass as close to the trail as I dared until I was opposite my buddy.  A 60 landed close enough to ring my ears and shower us with dirt.  The machinegun fire seemed to have moved further up the trail so I stuck my arm out and grabbed his hand.  His grip was so tight it hurt and scared me a little.  I braced myself and started to pull him off the trail.  The movement caught Charlie’s attention and a string of bullets walked down the trail right over my buddy, who twitched a couple of times and went limp, his now empty eyes stayed fixed on me.
Gunships roared overhead and blasted Charlie’s position.  Then everything went silent except for the whomp-whomp-whomp of the gunship rotors as they looked for Charlie.  I heard someone screaming medic-medic.  Doc came running up the trail bent over as low as he could and dropped down beside my buddy.  Only then did I realize I was the one yelling medic.  Doc worked on him for a couple of minutes then looked at me and shook his head.  My buddy was gone.
The medic asked if I were okay and I told him yeah, just a little shaken up.  Doc said, “Your arm is bloody.  Let me look at it.”  I had taken a round across my forearm without realizing it.
I hadn’t seen the enemy or fired a shot; just held a buddies hand while Charlie wasted him.  For this action, I got the Purple Heart and my buddy got a body bag.
This is a work of historical fiction I wrote in honor of Memorial Day.

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren