I creep slowly through the damp floors of the jungle, trying to avoid the low hanging vines that sweep in front of my eyes like a veil. My helmet doesn’t do much to keep the pesky plants out of my face, so I resort to my machete. The dense smell of damp earth and vegetation permeates the air. Sweat drips from my brow and stings my tired eyes, red from smoke and lack of sleep. The relentless sun and tropical humidity are stifling; not even my canteen is able to relieve me. 

Leaves crunch beneath my boots as I stalk forward, glancing behind me ever so often to check that Tom was still following. Squinting through the sharp sweat in my eyes, I just barely make him out about thirty feet behind me, squatting behind a thick green bush. He meets my eyes and nods curtly, a mischievous glint in his eye, and I muster a smirk. Man, he’s good, I think to myself as I trudge forward, gripping my rifle tight between my blackened hands. We’re getting close now.  

Tom and I have been walking for days, isolated from our entire company due to the surprise attack on our base. We lost eleven men that day. William, my best friend, was blown to pieces before my eyes. Never will I forget the terrified look on his dirt-smeared face, the panic in his eyes, limbs flailing as he sprinted towards us to escape the grenade hurtling towards his head. The nauseating yet sweet smell of his charred flesh is still fresh in my memory. My eyes start to sting again, but I just shake my head with a grunt and push forward.  

Snap. My head jolts up at the sound of the twig cracking, and I quickly scan the area, rifle poised and ready. Trying to ignore the thunderous pounding of my heartbeat in my head, I continue my visual scan, checking every bush and tree in my line of sight. I whip my head behind me just for a second, but Tom is nowhere to be found. My blood turns cold. Am I going to die here, alone? 

My pulse spikes and I hold my rifle with a death grip, finger on the trigger. I’m on my own. What now? A singular drop of sweat trickles down my temple. Crack. This time I know where the noise is coming from. Pivoting to my right, I point my gun right between the eyes of what looks to be a young Vietnamese soldier. He sharply inhales, staring at me, bug eyed with a hand on the knife at his hip. I’ve got him. 

In a millisecond, I look the boy up and down, taking in his ratty clothes, shaky hands, wide eyes, and the pocketknife between his white-knuckled fingers. His brown skin is damp with sweat, and if I didn’t know any better, he looks to be not a day older than sixteen. Wait a minute. That isn’t the standard issued VC uniform they all wore. He didn’t have a gun, and he definitely didn’t look old enough to fight. Maybe he’s not one of them, I think, but I don’t lower my rifle. Even if he isn’t a soldier himself…what if he’s being used against us? 

My breathing quickens as I stare at this boy, who stares right back. Friend or foe? The question keeps repeating over and over as I fiddle with the rifle in my hands, finger slowly moving towards the trigger. I can’t risk it. What if he gives us away? Finding my resolve, I grip my rifle tighter and aim for his heart. He lets out a gasp and drops the pocketknife instantly as he raises his hands to protect himself. Tears well in his petrified brown eyes and spill down his already slick cheeks. Those eyes, I thought. Will’s eyes… 

What am I thinking? I lower my rifle slowly, still holding my gaze with the boy, who looks equally as shocked as before. This isn’t what we stand for. We don’t kill innocents. With my rifle now at my side, I nod to the boy, who returns the gesture. His eyes crinkle as he manages a small smile, and I almost laugh at myself as I offer him a playful salute.  

I turn to leave, but the sound of gunfire turns me to stone. A sickening thud resounds behind me. My hands rush to my face to shield myself, and I nearly fall to the ground. When the smoke clears and I can see straight again, the boy continues to gaze back up at me, lifeless, his hands clutching his crimson chest. The all-too familiar scent of smoke, metal, and singed flesh permeates the air around us. No, no, no, not again… I think helplessly as both tears and fury begin to well up inside me.  

“Told you I always got your back,” I hear Tom’s voice behind me. I clench my teeth and whip around to face him, still in shock. “What the hell were you doing, anyway, turning your back to him? Just asking to get shot, is what.”  

My nostrils flare, and I shove Tom backwards, pointing my finger in his flustered face. “What was that? He wasn’t a soldier, he was just some unarmed civilian! I wasn’t gonna get shot! He’s not the enemy!” 

Glaring at me, Tom narrows his dark eyes and shoves me right back. “They’re all the enemy.”