The Wounds of War. Gary Blinco

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СКАЧАТЬ cursed wildly and began to crawl through the tall grass, praying that it was high enough to cover him as he moved obliquely towards the jungle fringe, away from the torment of the Vietcong fire. Taking his lead, the remains of his men followed, a terrified and bloodied procession under the cracking exchange of bullets from both sides of the battle.

      They left the gunfire behind as the last of the choppers rose away above the treetops, banked and returned with angry, roaring engines and throbbing rotors to pour streams of tracer rounds into the Vietcong position. Then the choppers were gone and silence fell over the jungle with awesome suddenness. Bishop knew their enemies would be leaving the protection of their bunkers and melting in ones and twos into the bush.

      He knew also that some of them would skirt along the jungle fringe to try to pick off any stragglers they could find before slipping away, a parting gesture of defiance against their stronger and better-equipped tormentors. Three of Bishop’s men were now either dead or badly wounded back on the paddy field, the other six slumped together in a small clearing, fear clouding their faces and the breath burning in their lungs as they looked to him for leadership. Bishop sat with his back against a tree as he contemplated his next move, his M16 across his knees. As he looked up at the dense green wall of jungle that frowned down on the little clearing, he saw a Vietcong soldier’s face framed in the leaves. The image looked posed, like a photograph that one might see in a photographer’s window. The man’s face was young, little more than a boy’s face, the skin pale, opaque like a china doll from months, perhaps years, in the shaded permanent twilight of the jungle.

      Bishop met the dark eyes of his sometime enemy; both of them somehow frozen in fear and wonder, then a slight smile played about the mouth of the Vietcong. Suddenly the face exploded in a bloody mess of minced meat as one of Bishop’s men sent a burst of M16 fire into the bushes, tearing the life from the young face and hurling Bishop out his nightmare into a cold awakening.

      He always woke with a start at this point in the dream, his body bolt upright in the bed, his heart pounding and the bed linen wet and musty with his sweat. He would sit quietly in his bed then, waiting for the pounding of his heart and the rasping of his breath to subside, willing his mind to lock out the images forever.

      When he awoke alone in some military bed he could cope with his condition; it was his problem and his alone. But, when he was back in his old bed in the family home, he ached with confusion and embarrassment as his concerned family appeared in his room, their eyes gaping in wonder as he tried to explain the thing away with a joke. Once or twice was easy to explain, but as the dreams continued he began to despair at his lack of control.

      He had learned to cope with the daylight hours, somehow locking the bad experiences away in secret compartments in his mind, like little rooms in a house where one stores unwanted junk. But his mind was becoming crammed with small locked rooms, cluttering his brain and slowing down his thoughts, robbing him of mental energy. And at night when he slept the doors of the little rooms in his mind burst open and the nightmare images broke free to rampage through his dreams.

      The dreams continued with a growing intensity and Bishop began to wonder how much he cried out in his sleep, or if he was losing control of his mind. He thought of approaching the medical officer with his problem, but decided that this would probably lead to endless psychological tests and possibly a medical downgrading. He had seen it happen to others, and he did not want to end up behind a desk or in a store room, burnt out for real soldiering at twenty-three; or jettisoned into civilian life with an inadequate pension to rot away for the rest of his life.

      The only answer, he decided at last, was to return to the war and confront the memories where they had begun. Like a child thrown from a horse, he had to get back in the saddle and try again before he lost his nerve forever. He would deal with this problem as he had dealt with so many others in his life. The family’s poverty, his missed opportunities as a child and then later as a young man had prepared him for a life of challenge. He had faced many obstacles and won, he would beat this thing too, if only he could meet it face to face.

      Momentarily coming back to the present he shuddered as he sat in the hot room under the lazy overhead fan, as if a cold chill had passed over him, then his mind returned to the past. He had met a girl named Leanne shortly after returning from the tour, marrying her after just three months. He wondered if perhaps he was secretly trying to fill the gap he felt in his heart after the loss of his father, but his instant attraction to the girl had been so intense.

      He had met her at one of the many parties that seemed to spring up like mushrooms around the army base, and he felt a wave of warmth now as he recalled that first meeting. It was the classic case of eyes locking across a crowded room. He had looked up to see her staring steadily at him through a haze of cigarette smoke, and he felt his heart flutter as if he had taken a hard hit in the centre of his body. Then a warm glow seemed to seep through him, like hot oil had been poured into the empty gaps that had been torn out of him by his recent experiences. Despite his usual shyness, he had walked over to her and introduced himself at once, and he was encouraged by her eager response to his approach.

      She was what his mother and the world at large would describe as a ‘nice girl’, from a good, solid and decent family, and the relationship blossomed quickly. She appeared to adore him, accepting his unusual job and his moody disposition. Bishop had a healthy respect for the institution of marriage; his own life had been built on the family unit that he loved. He was sure that this was the girl who would help him form his own family in the future, that she was the right one for him because she stirred his emotions and mind in a way that was totally new to him. He was so sure of his feelings that he proposed to her after only a few weeks, and he was delighted when she accepted at once.

      After the wedding they had taken a small flat near the army base and attempted to set up a normal domestic life together. The intense physical passion of the marriage was still there, even as they slipped into the tentative routine of a married couple, and Bishop had felt fulfilled and happy with the relationship. But after the first few weeks he knew he could not completely settle down to normal civilian and domestic life until he had cleared the many dark clouds from his head. He knew he had to do something to put an end to the nightmares that haunted him.

      Leanne often wondered aloud how long the violent nightmares would continue, and she was often forced to leave their bed and watch him toss and turn as he wrestled with the demons in his head. She had expressed surprise, even a little anger, when he extended his National Service obligation to undertake another tour of Vietnam but, after some reservations, she seemed to resolve herself to the situation and offered no further resistance. Perhaps she too felt it was the only way for him to confront whatever it was that possessed him, or perhaps she was exhausted after the intensity of their first few weeks together and felt the need of a break.

      Bishop had no doubts as to what he must do. He knew that he must either get back to the war and some action, to get on top of his problem, or get out of the army completely. Somehow the thought of civilian life filled him with dread. He could not face any attempt to re-enter his old life. The transitional gap seemed far too wide. Another trip to the war seemed to him the only solution, so he signed on for further service. The tour meant an immediate promotion to the rank of sergeant, despite his young age of twenty-three, and his mere two and a half-years of service.

      Apart from his pressing desire, his need, to face the bad memories on their own turf, he wanted to learn more about the Vietnamese people. Perhaps if he could understand the people and what they felt, then he could probably understand the war and himself better as well. And he wanted to know more about how the army worked behind the scenes, how the hundreds of tiny cogs of the military machine meshed and turned to churn out this thing called war.

      During the first tour he had felt insulated from the people of the country and the army establishment, so СКАЧАТЬ