I close my eyes, and sleep creeps up on me. I am in my ship in Vietnam. We have just let off a group of grunts and are taking on wounded to return to base for medical help.

This one has stepped on a land mine and his leg is gone. That one has a gaping hole in his chest. Another is bleeding from a head wound.

One by one they march through my head, and I see them begging for help and am doing all I can.

I hold this one’s hand and he looks at me asking if he will be alright. I see his wound has torn out parts of his stomach, smile and tell him he will be just fine. He is dead before we touch down.

I will it all to go away, but they keep coming, load after load, trip after trip as the night goes on.

Some I recognize from having brought them into this place of death. Those that have died have their shirts pulled up over their heads so their buddies will not know that they are no longer among the living until they muster again.

In my dreams my eyes fill with tears, for those that did not make it back, those that are so wounded you know they will not make it to the right medical help in time.

I try to console those I can without leaving my weapon for too long. Who knows who or what lurks in the jungle below.

I start to wake from my dream and am in the shower trying to wash the blood off my body. No matter how hard I try the blood just keeps coming.

As I finally wake up, I know most of the time during the day light hours I will not be walking through the landmines of my dreams.

© Tina Rice, May 21, 2008