Locked and loaded. He stared at his gun. His hand was trembling with a felt frequency of 150Hz. The sun was sinking barely touching the sky. He always felt a warm glow inside himself being aware that every time he saw this spectacle of nature it could be the next time.

Mildred, his wife, had always told him not to join the army, but Jack felt that it was his duty to serve his country. He was a real patriot voting Republican and being one of the first volunteer for the war against the Vietcong.

The leftist agenda was always suspect to him, as he never felt like a community could work without the desire to profit under any circumstances. He had his values, which, as far as he was concerned, were the only ones approved by god himself.

‘Himself’ it was, alright. He remembered hearing a voice claiming ‘herself’ could be possible, as well. “Come on! God a chick? That can’t be.”, he often said to himself being disgusted by the thought of men not being in charge. No, it had to be ‘himself’.

There was a sudden explosion leading to the end of his thoughts. His head was shaking of fear. Shots came out of the dark, then a smoke grenade. He had to cough loud and heart his lung hurting like salt in an open wound. He would tell this story to his kids some days. Jack the war hero enduring the hardest pain for his country. What a nice thought. As the smoke started to vanish,  a man holding a rifle appeared in front of him. Darkness…

He awoke several hours later; dust all around him. He found some of his friends lying dead on the ground, when looking around the deserted village. Words cannot describe the horror he witnessed that day. Blood and dirt covered the bodies making once decent man looking like pigs slaughtered but not eaten. Trying to stand up, he felt a piercing pain in his left leg. It was broken. He knew he was sure to die in this condition, so he tried to contact his general to ask for help. “What’s your position, private?”. He told his position to the general hoping for the daring rescue. “I’m afraid that’s to far to reach”, the general responded. Jack could not believe his ears, “But I’m dying. Can’t move!”. No response. He waited. Still no response. It became clear to him. He was doomed. The heat had made his head weak like a water melon. His rifle was empty, his leg was broken and he did not know where in hell to go to. He started crawling on the ground. He neither knew the direction nor the speed of his movements. His head heated up from the sun burning on his bald skin. Hard to imagine he once liked the idea of being in this godforsaken place. Being too tired to continue his journey, which in fact was only a large circle he drew in the dust, he screamed out five Hail Maries before passing out.

He awoke several hours later in a deserted room. Where was he? How did he get here?

Not being sure what to believe in he looked around seeing nothing but a half-destroyed wall and a rusty chair. Suddenly, there was a noise. “They are coming to get me. Those commis will see, what they’ll get for getting in the way of the greatest nation on earth.”

Footsteps came closer as he was eagerly awaiting his death. He would die a proud American. He would not cry facing the enemy. “Take me, you prick”…

A Vietnamese woman stood in front of him holding a piece of bread towards his open mouth.

He looked at her.

She nodded.

He saw the bread soaked in tears.

It tasted good…