No Time To Mourn

by Shawn Pinkston

  “Oh, look Jack.” Neil is pointing to the road opposite the kneed soldier. I see a small child running from an open doorway. The kid is crying and looks terrified. He runs directly for the soldier as his mother dressed from head to toe in black falls dead at the foot of the doorway apparently shot in the back of the head.

  The child and the soldier are about to embrace. The standing soldier seems to shout some kind of inaudible profanity and starts running backward. The soldier scooped the child up and then suddenly realized what he was really holding and then threw the poor toddler. But it was too late, the small child explodes in front of the soldier's face. The running soldier was blown to the ground with hard incinerating force but may have traveled out of range of any shrapnel. Flabbergasted by what has just happened before our very own eyes we ran toward the hopefully surviving soldier. We ignore any more frightened people and the mess of human remains littering the ground. We have to get to our fallen comrade. If he was like us then the other two men on their team were already lost at some point further back in the town. This is a rough place. I’ve encountered things I’ve only heard stories about from others who have seen.

  The child’s body has been obliterated. The soldier is mangled. Bits of metal riddle his body. The hunks of bloody, pale meat were indistinguishable from the two victims. We pull his tags, move him under an awning which hung against the brick wall, and then we walk on with our heads low out of respect but staying against the building keeping constant cover. We take a mental note of the deceased’s location for retrieval. We reach the other solder and Neil turns him over and we see his face. His uniform his charred but he seems fine. The man is dazed and speechless but very much alive. We hoist him to his feet and I recognize his face but I can’t place his name.

  “What’s your name soldier?” I ask suddenly realizing i’m the highest ranking person here.

  “Onan.” He answers. I help the man up. Onan brushes off and we keep moving.

  The sound of the fighting is much clearer now that the panic has drifted elsewhere. It is coming from our right and I am at a fast stride now. I turn left into an alley and I’m at a full run now. I glance back to confirm that the other two are still close behind. We pass some shanty town-like huts, third world sewage disposal, and tarpaulin attached two pieces of wood that served as housing. I’m not sure if these people lying in the sewers are victims of persecution or are here by making a deal with the devil we are fighting and came up short. We dance through alleys and skip over people resembling skeletons who don’t give us a second glance.

  We stop for a quick break. Neil and Onan drop to a knee and keep watch. I can just make out some shots being fired over my comrade’s panting. I open my water and pass it around. Each one of us takes a long drink. The tan and wooden walls of the shanty town echoes very audible pops. The more I listen the clearer the direction of gunshots become. Neil looks up looking through his sight at the rooftops. He scans each one diligently. Finally he sees a man peering down at us. Neil strains his eyes looking through the sight and then I see it as well.

  “RPG!” Neil yells and we all three instinctively dive out of harm’s way.

  Neil did not make it as far as he needed to. As the world exploded around us I could see my friend get blown to the side before everything was consumed by violent red hot blinding light. For a few seconds I can’t hear anything. Dust is thick in the air. I cough and breathe in powdery debris which makes me need to cough again. I could hard inhale without coughing. My vision is fuzzy and my ears ring. I feel for a wall. Feeling with my hand I touch a structure to brace myself only to feel a burning hot sensation swell around my palm. I jerk back and maintain my composure. I pull myself from the ground onto one knee. There is a small piece of shrapnel burning in my forearm not to mention what felt to be a second degree burn on the palm of my hand. I try to ignore the pain and focus on the now audible sound of gunshots at my six. I turn just in time to see Onan fire another round at the rooftop and then a sickening thud echoed against the ringing as the enemy hit the ground from three stories up, his weapon landing beside him.

  I step over the motionless body to Onan. I see that he is in better shape than I am. He seemed to escape the whole explosion. He seemed furious and happy all at the same time. There was no doubt he was happy about taking him down but furious at the fact he caught us off guard.

  Seeing that Onan was Okay I hurried to Neil. He was lying on his side. His right side of his body was charred and riddled with fragments. Hair and skin had been burned away to be replaced by irritated, searing wounds. He looked to have just been on the outskirts of the explosion. He began to stir so I hastily bent down to his aid. I rolled him over onto his back and he lay looking up. Onan had arrived now to cover us.

  Onan raised his gun and did a three sixty scan when Neal finally spoke.

  “I can’t hear out of my right ear, my leg hurts, and I can’t feel my arm.” Neil had a raspy voice but I could hear him growing stronger.

  “You’re lucky, you’re side took the brunt of the trauma.”

  “Yeah I can feel that.” Neil propped himself up on his good elbow.

  “Can you stand up?”

  “With help.”

  So we hoist the man up and he holds onto my shoulder and hops along with us holding out his pistol. We head toward the sound of the fighting with Onan doing constant surveillance around the two of us. Then we see it, the flare. A green-purple light trailing through the sky. It had gone up only once and that was once they first had landed here. It was sent up in the air for us to be able to pinpoint their exact location. We gained adrenaline with our treasure in the distance. Neil hobbled along quicker and quicker. Foot after foot we were determined. Our numbers our crippled and low but we will reinforce our companion. Just when we pick up pace Neil's bad leg drags on a piece of sheet metal sending the two of us tumbling over each other. Neil flops on his back writhing in pain, agony was obviously shooting through the entire burnt side of his body. I fell arms first. The shrapnel in my arm was shoved deeper in upon impact. My whole forearm was red and swollen. Onan stopped and backtracked, constantly doing a three sixty. He looked at rooftops and in each doorway. My arm was all I could think about at this point. Moans were all that came from Neil.

  "Come on guys, you have to pull through." Onan yelled while throwing a canteen of water next to me and I immediately administered some to Neil and then to my searing arm.

  A few seconds went by and I was trying to see if Neil would even acknowledge me. Grunts and groans of pain bellowed from our fallen friend. The charred side of his flesh must have been in unimaginable pain. I didn't know what to do with him or my own arm. Onan kneeled beside me and ripped a piece from his sleeve. He looked back over his shoulder and his mouth dropped with worry.

  I twisted my neck to see what was happening. Before I could even look I heard what was coming for us. In the direction we had just come from were the sounds of pounding footsteps. If I am hearing this disturbance correctly they were about half a football field away.

  "We have to go," Onan worriedly pulled another sleeves off, exposing both muscular bare arms. "Bite down on this." He shoved his waded sleeve into my mouth. We are in trouble and I am at his mercy.

  Without warning Onan grabs the exposed shard of shrapnel and yanks hard, forcing it from my flesh. I give a pained yell as the jagged edges tear and rips the irritated meat of my forearm. I'm left clutching my arm while a crimson river pours from the gaping wound. He wraps the other sleeve around my wound. What about Neil. He is lying awake in a semi catatonic state. He stirs slightly. My arm is nothing compared to the amount of searing pain of his burnt and fragmented side.

  "We need to hide him or drag him along." I said quickly standing to my feet. I shift my rifle and try to block the fear of the oncoming horde. My arm throbs sending shockwaves of discomfort through my crippled limb.

  "We can't drag him, we don't have time to make a stretcher of any sort and the pain of pulling him along would t
hrow him into shock." Onan rubbed his eyes.

  "We have to do something, we can't just leave the poor bastard!" I pleaded trying to figure out what to do. Time was running out. The footsteps are getting louder and I am afraid to look back.

  Neil gargled something feint and we both leaned in closer to listen. Neil was trying to force sounds into words."Here," Neil swallowed blood that had just begun to drip from his mouth. He reached out and handed his satchel, grenades and the pistol he had picked up off the asshole who attacked my earlier. "Take it." He choked and spit bloody mucus to floor. I grabbed his gear from him. He continued in a red stained hoarse voice, "I'll give em hell and... just reach the objective and get... (chokes once more) our boys out of that this hole."

  My heart dropped, the reality of what my comrade was saying had sunk in. A silent moment went by that seemed to last for hours but how could it have with those fuckers close on our heels.

  "You're a good soldier Neil." Onan gently maneuvered the injured man around to where he faced the oncoming reapers. The poor man winced with constant pain.

  The pit of my stomach ached as I wiped a tear away and ran after my last standing partner. I had looked back for the first time right as a bullet flew past my face. Twenty five plus people were crammed in the little alley way rushing toward us and our fallen friend. They all wore ragged robes, patched jeans, and drabby t-shirts. All held firearms of some sort and all guns were raised high and shooting. Neil's rifle burst to life and ripped opened a large gap between the approaching menace. He kept firing with the pain of each recoil radiating through his raw and burned body. We pressed on and that was the last time I had seen my friend Neil.

  Sweat had already been pouring from our bodies. We were dehydrated. Muscles ached. We endured. We are hardened for these exact circumstances. Our group is crippled but we dig deep and will ourselves to move at full capacity. Adrenaline and not dying were also big motivators. I held my arm and watched the sky. Not for the flare but where it was sent from. The trailing, fading light has moved a distance from its original origin. Onan, with less burden moves further ahead and surveys every alley and street we cross or pass. He scans up and down. We are moving fast and difficult for the enemy to shoot but every few seconds as we move a little further along, zigzagging through sun baked buildings and dirt roads Onan would see someone who has their sights set on us and take them out. We had hope in the sky and we forced efficiency on the field.

  We had to be close now. Fighting was next to us but we couldn’t yet see it. A few more houses over and I know we could join the fight but we have to get to our people first. The two of us stood out sorely in the middle of the street. This part of town did seem deserted but that doesn’t mean the enemy picked up and left.

  “Jack, look,” Onan rushes to a body slumped over a stone fence at an opening of the ally. The dead man was definitely one of them. “I bet our guys are down that way.” Onan nodded toward the alley.

  This alley we were walking into looked to be a hive for the enemy. It looked to be a black market controlled and ran by them. One booth had diamond rings with no price labeled on them. Rugs, clothing, guns, and any assortment of drugs lay out in the open untouched still ready for sell. At each booth laid one member of the enemy (with anywhere for one to three guns lying around them and other plain clothed people) who had either at one point owned, operated, or enforced at one of the shops. Some citizens caught in crossfire lay about, intermingled amongst the enemy.

  This looked like it could be a death trap if one of our teams were to walk in and start shooting. Yes there was no doubt in my mind they had gone down this way and the team was led by my best friend. I don’t think anyone else could have come out of this alley alive. Each booth was almost evenly spaced backed up against each house. Each house connected to the next forming a long impenetrable tunnel with two (sometimes three) stories on both sides and almost no gaps between which left only two ways in and out. A shadow filled the narrow area sheltered by the building. It was less arid here and the air was a little cooler and simply being able to breathe cool air instead of dry, throat scorching air. We walked a little faster to the fighting. It was ever present now only a wall away. There was a fire in one building and just short of the fire was a gap in the wall of houses on the right which was the direction of the shooting. My friend had left a slight trail, partly made from the bodies laying around and also due to the easy overlooked, occasional heavy boot print. We turned right and advanced. We could see the light of the sun baking an open courtyard of dusty sand that was gaudy with bodies strewn all around. Halfway through the gap we heard voices. We stopped and listened. In between the shots words could be made out. They weren’t words of the native tongue. These were English words. They were American voices.

  BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…

  Jack bolted up out of bed. He was terrified and quickly he took his surrounding in. He was in a different place. How is it suddenly nighttime? He was in his bedroom? Things were suddenly very perplexing. He quickly looked at his arm to see a faint scar on his forearm as if his gaping wound had suddenly healed itself. That sound… BEEP… BEEP... Jack looked over and on his nightstand was his alarm clock. He breathed a sigh of relief as he pressed snooze on his alarm. It was just one of those dreams again.He then pulled back the covers exposing the body of his wife Marilyn. He carefully got back into bed and put his arm around her as he awaited the sunrise.

  Chapter Three

  No Time To Mourn

  “He said he heard American voices?”

  “He heard mine and the other guy…” I trailed off. It’s hard to think about him dying. He and I outlasted the rest. We were strong.

  “Before the other soldier died,” the man looked down at his clipboard and scribbled something unseen then looked back up over his glasses. “Correct?”

  He is deliberately pushing the subject, trying to find something that isn’t there. “Yes.” I sigh heavily to enforce my frustration.

  “Tell me again, one last time, what exactly happened.” The man looked straight through me with prying eyes.

  He was trying to find holes in my story by asking over and over again. He has already picked up on how I’ve described things differently. Once you think about it over and over again, talk about it over and over again, and get interrogated about it over and over again you start to dwell on it and when you tell the story over for another time you see things much more darkly. I relive this nightmare with him once a week and then I have to relive it again, and again. He walks me back through it hand and foot. I describe every detail; the sand, the sweat, and the blood. Its drilled into my head every seven days, I could never forget what happened but why do i have to walk through every nuance? It’s as if he thinks I did what I did on my own concurrence. Maybe I did, I could have defied orders. Maybe he likes to hear all these grime details. Maybe he is just that sick. Or maybe this guy is supposed to think this way. It is his job to get to the bottom of whatever it is he is supposed to get to the bottom of. However, in my case I believe I’ve told him the truth. So again I tell him for a fourth time what exactly happened.

  I began at the same point each time. “Jack busted through the door we had lightly barricaded. We looked-”

  He interrupts right where he always does, almost predictable but switching around the questions just enough to throw me off in hopes to find a conflict in my account. “And we meaning?” He glares through me awaiting an answer, ominously tapping his clipboard.

  Rubbing my temples I answer. “Me and Scott,” As I expected he begins to interrupt once again but I intercept his next question, he has asked it twice now so I answer it and his following inquiries. “And yes the others were lost by that point, all by the enemy, and all by one grenade.”

  Once again one of his routine questions. “Can you tell me again in which order they perished?” He looks over his spectacles with what seemed like only the slightest hint of curiosity.

  I hadn’t anticipated this question. He had asked
the same the last three times over. Why switch the question now? How does he expect me to answer that? It’s a fucking grenade! “What do you mean?” My voice begins to rise. “It exploded and killed everyone near. Luckily Scott and I were behind the three crates that lined the windows which gave us cover because we were laying down serious fire on those fuckers!” My voice was at full blast now annoyed by his incessant questions and ever-present prodding. I felt my veins pulsing around my neck. I saw the man get wide eyed. I seen my reflection in the mirror behind him, what I saw made my skin crawl. I quickly looked to the blue carpet of his mediocre office. I took a deep breath and sighed heavily. I regained composure. “Look, it was an explosive. It blew and killed Raul and Zig instantly.”

  “But that wasn’t the full team you started out with?” More persistent manipulative persuading from the shrink.

  “No. Aside from everyone else who died before we got to location, I hate thinking about how I exhausted all of our excess cloth, gauze and even our t-shirts trying, praying, and willing him to stay alive but the shrapnel was too deep and it was inevitable. He had internal bleeding and no shirt would stop that.” I hung my head. Some memories are too vivid.

  “His name was?” The shrink asked changing the subject as if he were reading my mind.

  “Luke,” the word came up like bile. It hurt in every sense. “He lay there bleeding out from the stomach, shortly after the little child had tossed in that damn grenade. He was in so much pain. He cringed in the fetal position. He hurt for so long and he could not cry any longer. I watched him go, him willing him to stay with us. I kept telling him that backup would be on the way soon. The guys will be here soon. We will kick ass and have Major chopper you out of here. Just hold out brother... Hang on Luke… Scott laid down cover fire while I tried to urge him back to life. I reassured him help was on the way. I shot my last signal flare out of the window to indicate our location. I had hoped there was still back up coming. If we hadn’t landed in this area we wouldn’t have been able to get to the stronghold we had. There was no reason to drop us right on top of that snake pit.” Fighting back tears I tried to explain again the best I could but yet again there were more questions.